


Of People and Dæmons

by DelphinusDelphis



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Dæmons, Exploring Concepts, Exploring Relationship Dynamics, Family Feels, Fluff, Friendship, His Dark Materials AU, Moon Fam - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Processing Grief, a fair amount of rayllum, as canon compliant as available media allows, canon compliant to animated show, daemon AU, dealing with bereavement, dæmon AU, exploring character development, not canon compliant to novelisations, speculative Callum's birth father, will continue to add/include more characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 101,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphinusDelphis/pseuds/DelphinusDelphis
Summary: In a world of magic, where the threat of war hangs over everyone’s heads and dragons roam the skies above, humans and elves alike seek comfort and counsel from their dæmons – their animal companion and the physical manifestation of their soul.A His Dark Materials/Dæmons AU featuring a collection of scenes, characters and scenarios reimagining the show if people had dæmons. Canon compliant to the animated show with some speculative musings thrown into the gaps.
Comments: 140
Kudos: 136





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> For this AU I have taken the concept of dæmons from His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. For those who have not read/seen the series: the premise is that there are an infinite number of worlds, and in some worlds there is a part of your soul that takes a physical form in the shape of an animal who stays by your side your whole life, called a dæmon (pronounced like the word 'demon'). To be physically distant from your dæmon causes great pain, and it is considered taboo to touch someone else’s dæmon because it is literally a part of that person’s soul. A child’s dæmon may change shape and assume any form they choose, until the age of puberty when it settles on a particular animal (their ‘true form’). The form an adult dæmon takes reflects something about the true nature of that person, and generally speaking your dæmon is the opposite sex to you. In everyday life, you wouldn’t talk directly to another person’s dæmon except in special/unique circumstances, and sometimes disputes can be settled non-verbally by letting your dæmons stare each other down (children often have contests where their dæmons try to out do each other by changing their shape to something bigger/badder/more aggressive until someone caves). Dæmons however do frequently talk to each other, and a lot of information can be communicated through the mental link to their human, but its very hard for a person to focus on an activity or conversation if their dæmon is occupied in another conversation. You can tell a lot about someone by looking at their dæmon: their shape speaks of the person’s true nature, and their behaviour can reveal a lot about how the person is feeling (for example, if a person appears completely calm and serene, but their cat dæmon is flicking their tail rapidly, that indicates person is agitated about something).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 1 Episode 2: Retelling that fateful first meeting between Callum and Rayla, with their dæmons in tow.

The sun was warm, the river a roaring torrent far below, and the rocky face of the cliff unforgiving. Rayla slammed her blades into its surface repeatedly, testing each foot and hand hold rapidly before moving onto the next one. Her dæmon Cornix flitted back and forth, scouting out the next section of rock, passing the information to her, and once they were close enough to the top of the castle wall, he kept a look out for guards.

Thanks to her insubordination, the humans would be on high alert.

Resolve burned in her chest, aching more painfully than the strain in her limbs as she scaled the wall. She _would_ make it right, and she _would_ prove herself to Runaan, and the Silvergrove – _everyone_.

Cornix noted disdainfully that a little songbird had alighted on the wall above Rayla’s head, and cawed angrily. When that failed to startle it, he dropped down beside it and spread his wings menacingly. The bird chirruped with alarm and flew off just as Rayla reached the top. She grappled with the wall, relying on Cornix to watch for danger as she tumbled over the side onto the smooth flagstones of the walkway, panting heavily with exertion.

Once she had caught her breath, she looked up at her dæmon, sitting on the wall, head flicking every which way to keep a look out.

“Be quiet,” she hissed at him when he cawed again at another songbird that fluttered too close. “They’ll know you’re not from around here,”

Cornix was a hooded crow, and as far as she could tell, all the crows this side of the border were plain and black all over. And even if that hadn’t been the case, it was very apparent he was an elf’s dæmon. The pale markings on his body were highly stylised, like most dæmons of their people, and would one day form the basis for her own adult markings.

“We need to move.” Cornix stated, cocking his head to one side, and she heard the sounds of marching boots.

Rayla got up off the ground and stared across the woodland, back the way she had come, taking that flame of resolve and fanning it further still. She thought of Runaan and his acerbic words, how deeply they had bitten her. “I _can_ to this. I _will_ do this.” she told herself emphatically.

Cornix made a softer sound. She looked at him, and he gazed back unwaveringly with his beady eyes. “Lead the way.”

Rayla spun on her back leg and made for the closest doorway, into one of the many round towers that ran along the outer wall. Inside was a warren of corridors, and plenty of shadows for her to hide in. Cornix flapped into the even darker rafters, where the absence of sunlight hid his distinctive markings well.

Rayla hid behind a stone lintel when she heard footsteps in the adjacent corridor. Cornix sent her a thought from the rafters as he watched a boy about their age walking towards the doorway Rayla was standing behind. He looked sad and preoccupied, eyes cast to the floor in front of his feet; he wore a blue jacket over a dark shirt, and had a bright red scarf wrapped around his neck. He drew level and kept going, and Rayla launched herself across the open space, taking care to make noise and attract his attention. She waited and listened, with her own ears and with Cornix’s eyes.

The boy’s dæmon, a large collared dove perched on his shoulder, ruffled her wings and cocked her head to one side, drawing the boy’s attention. He paused and turned in the direction of the noise.

“Ez? Is that you?” he called out, taking the bait and following Rayla. “Hello?” he tried again more loudly, voice ringing in the broad, echoing space of the stone building. His dæmon cooed, then tried again, like she was trying to elicit a response from someone.

“Ohh,” she groaned, clinging to her person’s shoulder as she beat her wings restlessly. “Where on earth have they got to _this_ time?”

Cornix waited before he flew down to meet Rayla, landing on her shoulder guard silently as the boy moved ahead of them. Rayla counted his footsteps, heart hammering beneath her ribs, and then started to follow. She stalked him, trying to be like Runaan and his nightfox dæmon as she followed her quarry. She knew she had been detected when his dæmon fluttered her wings and shook herself down, and there was a smile in the boy’s voice as he started to slowly turn around to look at her.

“You know you can’t sneak up on me-” his sentence ended with a gasp when he saw her, and his dæmon fluttered again, this time in alarm, momentarily taking flight before landing again on his shoulder.

They stared at her fearfully, and Rayla felt that same dread in the pit of her stomach – the feeling she had had when the guard had looked up at her in the rain.

No, she wasn’t going to fail _this time_.

Rayla reached up to pull down her hood, and Cornix beat his wings wide to show off his strength and speed with a derisive _caw_. The dove dæmon hunkered down and pressed herself into her boy’s neck with a whimper.

“Uhh,” the boy stammered, flustered, _terrified_ , grasping at straws. “You’re- you’re not who I thought, you’re-” he raised a hand and pointed at her. “You’re one of those, with the pointy-”

Unable to resist teasing him, Rayla drawled, letting her accent drip thickly on the Common Tongue so he could understand her. “Ohh, you don’t like m’ears?”

“No! I mean, I- yeah! _Yes_ , I do, I- I guess.”

The idiot looked away, taking a very casual stance considering a hostile elf had snuck into the castle and had her swords out. The dove dæmon fluttered helplessly on his shoulder, and though she didn’t take her eyes off the pair of them, Rayla listened to Cornix’s cold thoughts, that she was an easy target for him. He flexed his talons in preparation, shifting his weight for take-off and noting every movement and weakness in the other dæmon.

“I mean, I meant the pointy-” Rayla brandished the blade in her left hand, tired of the human’s fumbling. “Swords,” he took a step back, his balance completely off. Cornix could probably take him out himself – this guy had no clue when it came to fighting, clearly.

“That’s far enough,” Rayla said in a commanding tone, holding out her dominant right arm, sword aimed at his throat as the boy reflexively brought his hands closer to his chest, throwing a hand out to protect his dæmon. “I’m lookin’ for someone.”

“Oh, uhhh…” he gave her an apologetic smile, eyes darting back and forth. His dæmon was completely still, her gaze fixed on the crow dæmon that was threatening to launch himself at them. “Did you check back there?” the human pointed off to the side.

Cornix and Rayla both turned in the direction he indicated, tensing. There was a wall hanging, but given the layout of the castle, there could have easily been another passageway behind it.

The human grabbed the fabric with one hand and yanked hard, pulling it from the wall and down onto Rayla. He threw a hand out into Cornix’s face – never actually touching her dæmon, but so close that the crow shrieked in alarm and flapped backwards. The dove dæmon launched herself at Rayla’s face with the same intent, not making physical contact, but she felt the brush of air from the wing beats against her face before the wall hanging came down on her.

“Run!” the human’s dæmon called desperately, and his unsteady footsteps pelted down the corridor as Rayla reached up with her swords and shredded the impromptu net into pieces.

Cornix shrieked with all the fury Rayla felt at herself for falling for such a dumb trick, and she ran after him. The only advantages he had were the head start, familiarity with the castle, and a bird dæmon to be a look out. Rayla was faster, stronger, and fuelled by her need to fulfil her binding oath. Cornix zoomed forward and harried the other dæmon, who shrieked in alarm and fluttered haplessly. The boy spun round, terror etched into every line of his face.

“ _Cerys-_!”

“Keep running!” she shrieked back, dodging another attack by a hair’s breath. “She’s right behind you!”

Rayla had to take a diversion: the boy grabbed a suit of armour as he ran and threw it behind him. It was a nice, resourceful idea, the kind that Runaan would have praised during a training session – but it didn’t work in the real world. She simply jumped and ran along the wall, avoiding the obstacle, and then came up short because the other dæmon flew right at her face even as Cornix harried her. He squawked in alarm and went for her tail, seeing how close she was to Rayla, and the elf lashed out with the hilt of her swords at the dæmon, trying to avoid touching her. She pulled in her wings and plummeted to the floor; Cornix flew over Rayla’s head, and the dove spread her wings again, spinning with surprising agility and following after her human.

Rayla recovered and used the walls of the stair well as springboards, trying to keep the dove dæmon where she couldn’t pull another stunt like that. She and the boy sprinted through the door and onto the battlements outside, straight towards a pair of startled soldiers.

“She’s right behind us!” he yelled, only stopping once he was behind the guards, who drew their weapons and turned to meet Rayla.

Two males, each with that ridiculous facial hair arrangement that humans seemed to like; one had a heavy-set terrier dæmon, the other a hawk who hissed as Cornix swooped into view. Rayla took a moment to decide and communicate to Cornix, who agreed, and she sprung her blades into hooks before she ran at the humans. The two birds met in mid-air with a clash of talons and the dog dæmon barked angrily, snapping at Rayla’s ankles as she went. She dodged both of the guards, in the process succeeding in making them lurch after her and undermining their own balance. She spun through the air, counting and gauging the distance she needed to make before landing. Once on her feet she turned and swept their legs out from under them. The guard with the terrier dæmon smacked his head on the stones and she dropped to the ground; the other guard passed out when Cornix likewise cracked the hawk against the wall, knocking both person and dæmon out cold. Rayla straightened up, assessing the situation with satisfaction.

“Hey, you swept the leg!”

Rayla blinked. She looked over her shoulder, confused by the boy’s tone of voice. It was…almost excited, awed even.

“What?”

It was his turn to blink, and he pulled himself up straight as well, face blank as his dæmon hissed, “Focus!” from above his head.

“Wha-err, nothing.”

He turned and ran, his dæmon snapping something as she swooped down to peck at the back of his head; some admonishment too low for Rayla to hear as she pelted after them, Cornix flapping over her shoulder and diving after the dove dæmon.

They chased the pair inside again, onto another corridor and into a spiral stairwell. Rayla took advantage of the smooth walls to run unimpeded after her quarry. In the enclosed space the dæmons shrieked at each other, the sounds echoing painfully in the peoples’ ears. The boy ducked through a doorway at the top of the stairs, shouting for someone – the names were lost to Rayla’s hearing under Cornix’s battle cry. Rayla finally caught up with the human as he hesitated in the doorway of another room, and she slammed her shoulder into his back.

The boy stumbled forward and tried to turn around, arms coming up to protect his face as he fell over backwards. Objects scattered in his wake from the table he crashed into before he came to rest on the floor, sitting up with a jerk and rubbing the back of his head, eyes very wide. One of his bags had fallen open as well, spilling its contents.

Cornix pounced on his dæmon and pinned her to the floor, tearing at her neck while she beat her wings uselessly.

“No!” he tried to get up, but was to disorientated by his dæmon’s distress. “Please, don’t hurt her! _Cerys-_!”

Rayla shot Cornix a look, and he grabbed the fragile neck in his beak, keeping the dove pinned to the floor. Her chest moved rapidly, wings still, and the boy looked for a moment like he might throw up. Rayla walked into the room, affecting an unconcerned air, graceful and predatory.

“You don’t _have_ to die.” She told him carelessly. Nodding to Cornix, she halted her march forward, and her dæmon let the boy’s go.

The collared dove didn’t move for a long, agonising moment, and Rayla’s heart leapt with a sickening jolt, thinking the dæmon had gone into shock. She knew what that felt like – Cornix had been struck on the head during practise once, and she had felt his fear and pain so sharply that she had collapsed. That was the one drawback about birds – it was so easy to put them into shock, and that could physically harm their elf. Or in this case, her human.

The boy shook his head, trying to drag himself out of the stupor of fear and called his dæmon’s name. She twitched, and then clumsily scuffled to her feet before she flew to his arms, shaking and crying. There was a trail of blood from Cornix’s talons on her feathers, and he hugged her close, almost weeping with relief.

Rayla gave them a brief moment to recover before she stalked forward menacingly. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it no matter what.

“There are only two targets tonight.” She told him, intending to extract the information she needed.

“Wait, two? What do you mean?” the human asked, scared but calculating now that he had caught his breath and his dæmon was out of harm’s way.

Cornix flapped clumsily in the still air of the room up to Rayla’s shoulder, where he hunched over and looked as menacing as his elf, cawing derisively. She curled her lip with contempt, and said, “I’m here for the king. And I’m also here for his son, Prince Ezran.”

The boy’s eyes went very wide, his expression pure horror; the dove dæmon beat her wings frantically in alarm, so much so that he had to grab her to calm her down and prevent her from hurting herself further. “You can’t! That’s not fair! Why would you hurt someone who’s done nothing wrong?” his tone was somewhere between begging and reasoning.

Rayla wasn’t going to have any of it. She argued back, “Humans cut down the King of the Dragons, and destroyed his _only_ egg, the Dragon Prince,” she punctuated her reasoning with a threatening jab of her sword to his throat. “Justice will not be denied.” She watched his expression; it was sick with fear, but still underneath determined as he cast his gaze to the floor.

“I see.” He said, his voice smaller, calmer. He put a hand on his quivering dæmon, stroking her rose tinged feathers. “Well, then. You’ve found me.” He lifted his head, and suddenly the bumbling fool she had chased across the castle became proud and regal – every inch a prince, as he emphatically said, “I am Prince Ezran.”

Rayla exhaled softly, satisfied. She had found her target, no one else needed to get hurt now. She shifted her stance and leaned back ever so slightly, and felt Cornix hesitate as well. Prince Ezran watched the movement, and reached for his bag, stuffing the books and pencils back into it and trying to back up. He never made it to his feet; Rayla followed him inexorably, blade held up as he crawled backwards on the floor. The dove dæmon flitted to his shoulder where she perched, feathers fluffed up and wings occasionally shifting like she was preparing to take off – but she stayed put, watching Rayla, Cornix, the doorway, and back again, chest fluttering with anxiety.

Strange, even on all fours, dæmon jittering, _literally_ crawling, Rayla could see courage dancing in his eyes, resolve hardening in his spine.

He hadn’t pleaded, or tried to bargain, or lie. He had accepted his fate.

“I have to do this.” She said out loud. She tried to convince herself it was for his benefit, but she knew she was trying to convince herself as well. “I’m sorry.”

Prince Ezran was now backed up against the wall, there was nowhere else to go, nowhere to hide.

“I don’t want to, but I have to.” She took a step forward, trying to steel herself.

King Harrow had killed the Dragon King, killed his heir. This was revenge, _justice_ for the senseless killing. Even though this boy hadn’t done anything to her. He _needed_ to die, to restore balance and justice in the world.

“Why?” the Prince challenged her. “You know this is wrong,”

Cornix fluttered and squeaked, an overt sign of his anxiety and misgivings, and she gave him a hard look. “An assassin doesn’t decide right and wrong,” she told them all firmly, echoing Runaan’s words from so long ago, the day she had told him she wanted to be an assassin too. “Only life, and death.”

Prince Ezran’s breath caught as he stumbled to speak, like he was desperate to get the words out as quickly as possible. “That’s very clever, but come on, _really_?” he had a politician’s mask on – well-meaning smile, twisted at the edges with fear. So much for not trying to bargain his way out of this… “How does this solve anything?”

That pricked at Rayla’s nerves, and Cornix gave an answering shriek, threatening to fly at them. The dove dæmon quivered against her human’s cheek, but she didn’t waver in her vigilance.

“This is justice.” Rayla snarled. “Humans attacked us unprovoked.”

“So its okay for you to do the same thing?” The Prince argued back.

Rayla scowled and leaned back, removing her blade from his chest, ready to bring it back with a slash across his throat if need be. For whatever reason, it felt vitally important that she make him _understand_ why she was doing this, why she was going to kill him.

“Well no. It’s _not_ the same thing,” she brought her right sword back to point at his face. “Because we’re attacking you – _provoked_.”

“Then it’s a cycle!” he countered. He was still wide eyed and afraid, but he wasn’t blubbering about it or begging. He was simply trying to reason with her, at least in his own mind. “You hurt me, someone will get revenge against the elves. It _won’t_ _end_.” He said emphatically.

“ _Callum_.” Someone murmured – somewhere…inside the wall?

The Prince blinked and turned to look at the oil painting on the wall to Rayla’s left. It was a pastoral scene of a young woman surrounded by sheep – no one to be seen in that dark corner.

“ _Psst. Callum_ ,” the voice said again. The dove dæmon started fluttering in agitation once more, and he tried to calm her down.

“Shhh!” Ezran hissed. “Go away!”

Rayla flicked her gaze at him, and Cornix bounced on her shoulder, turning towards the pair on the floor with a hiss while she stared fixedly at the portrait.

“ _I found something_ ,” the voice stated. It sounded much younger than Ezran.

Rayla took her eyes off the wall and looked at the Prince, nonplussed. “Are you talkin’ to that paintin’?”

He smiled awkwardly and laughed it off, “Why would I do that? ‘Cause, it’s _not a good time_ ,” he raised his voice and scowled at the painting.

“ _You mean because you’re with a_ girl _?_ ” the voice taunted.

Cornix cocked his head to one side, and Rayla followed his train of thought. She kept a blade on the Prince as she edged her way towards the portrait, and he watched her helplessly while his dæmon shook and moaned in his arms, betraying his anxiety. Rayla reached up without looking to grab the side of the portrait, and pushed. It swung on hinges, opening wide to reveal a dark passageway beyond it, and a young boy with some kind of toad…thing, tucked under his arm, and something in his hand. A little brown mouse dæmon was sitting on his shoulder, and she squeaked before flitting into a sparrow and fluttering by his ear as he took a step back, surprised by the scene he found himself in. Rayla pointed her other sword at him as he started, eyes darting to the pastry in his hand.

“Uhh…” he smiled uncertainly, placatingly even. “Jelly tart?” he held it out to her, looking to the boy on the floor for a moment before back to the hostile elf.

“Kid, get outta here,” the prince said, jumping to his feet.

His dæmon fluttered and twittered, and the boy’s dæmon became a turtle dove; they cooed to each other, and Cornix cawed loudly, fluffing himself up to look menacing again, threatening to fly at the collared dove.

“Callum, what’s going on?” the boy asked, looking scared and turning to the older boy, who she suddenly realised that, despite the age difference and the tones of their skin (the younger boy was markedly darker), the pair of them bore a striking resemblance. They must be related.

“Callum?” Rayla questioned, her stomach sinking. “I thought _you_ were Prince Ezran!” she brandished a sword at him, heart leaping into her mouth. She had almost made a terrible mistake. “You lied to me!”

“Okay, how is that worse than trying to kill someone?” he demanded, arms up in a gesture that she couldn’t determine whether it was surrender or defensive.

Rayla’s heart skipped painfully in her chest. The pieces fell into place in her mind. This Callum had lied to protect the real Prince – he must be an older brother or cousin, trying to protect his family, which would explain why he had tried to reason with her. Cornix flapped his wings, in agitation this time, trapped in her vortex of doubt and wavering resolve.

The boy – presumably the _real_ Prince Ezran – stuffed the pastry thing into his mouth and rapidly ate it before he held out the grumpy looking frog…thing, in his hands.

“Have you met Bait?”

“What are you doing?!” Cornix hissed, partly at the boy and partly at his elf as Rayla teetered on the brink of action, trapped by indecision. Nothing was going the way they had planned, and she had a horrible feeling she had just made things even _more_ worse than she already had for her team.

“Say hello to my little friend.”

The grumpy thing closed its eyes languidly.

Light exploded, filled the whole room. Rayla cried out in alarm and pain, dropping her swords and staggering backwards to her knees, her head splitting with the pain. She felt Cornix fall from her shoulder, likewise disoriented, and land in a heap on the floor beside her. Her vision was filled with bright, harsh light and dancing, darker spots. She couldn’t see, but she could hear the boy telling his older relative to follow him, and the creak of hinges. Cornix tried to get up and flap after them, but the collared dove attacked him viciously with a shriek, and he was still dizzy and blind from the blast, so he toppled over like a tower of adoraburrs.

There was an awful, ringing silence as the footsteps faded, punctuated only by their harsh breathing. Rayla staggered to her feet, rubbing the spots from her vision. Cornix flapped uselessly for a few moments before bobbing onto his feet and twitching himself back into order.

“We can’t let them escape!” her dæmon hissed, clumsily getting airborne as she scrambled for her swords.

“When I get m’hands on him,” Rayla muttered darkly. She was angry at this Callum person, and angry at herself for being so _stupid_ -

“Look!” Cornix barked, and she ran to him. He was perched on the frame of the portrait, pecking at something. “We can track them,” he said grimly, tasting the sweet flavour of fruit jelly.

Rayla yanked the door open with a snarl. “C’mon!”

Cornix flapped his wings and jumped from his precarious perch on the side of the hidden door and swooped into the darkness after her, cawing angrily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a side project I couldn’t get out of my head after watching the BBC adaptation of the first book of His Dark Materials, Northern Lights (the televised series only has one season so far and is just called ‘His Dark Materials’, not to be confused with the film The Golden Compass) whilst also rewatching The Dragon Prince. Chapters will probably vary in length and content, and scenes will not be in chronological order. This first chapter came about with me musing over what Callum and Rayla’s dæmons would look like and how they might interact with each other in those first few moments. I’m treating this as a fun and creative exercise to stop myself from going insane during lock down xD so I am very open to suggestions for specific characters and their dæmons, and rewriting any particular scenes in the series or new scenarios you’d like to see in this AU. I intend next to write a scene with the three main characters walking to the Banther Lodge, getting to know each other and their dæmons, and probably the scene where Rayla explains primal magic to Callum, which may or may not be connected together - but any other suggestions you may have would be welcome!


	2. Getting To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 1 Episode 4: Rayla explains the concept of primal magic, and then the gang head towards the Banther Lodge against Cornix’s better judgement. Callum’s dæmon proves to be only slightly more alert and graceful than her human.

Callum woke up when the sunlight touched his face, warm and inviting despite the hard ground he was lying on. Cerys cooed sleepily and snuggled into the crook of his neck, reluctant to move. Callum did eventually sit up when the sun had fully risen, and his back was starting to ache. He preferred sleeping on his side, but that was hard to do on the ground without a real pillow. He sighed, and opened his eyes again, looking up at his dæmon’s throat. She cocked her head at him sideways and they shared the thought that they should really get used to sleeping rough like this – they were in for a long journey, after all.

Slowly, Callum stretched, grimacing at the myriad of aches and pains in his protesting limbs. He looked over at Ezran, who was curled up around his bag and the dragon egg, using Bait as a substitute pillow. Kalila, Ezran’s dæmon, was a banther for warmth and comfort, tucked around her human with her long tail almost but not quite tickling his nose.

Cerys beat her wings a few times to get the blood moving, and then hopped from Callum’s shoulder to his own bag, and pecked at the clasp. He smiled and followed her, casting a cursory glance around for the elf and her crow dæmon. Rayla was sitting on a rock nearby, watching them while her dæmon perched on one of her horns, quick and alert to all the sounds in the woods around them.

“So you’re up.” She stated bluntly, and then looked pointedly at Ezran.

Cerys fluttered nervously and skittered along the ground to be closer to Kalila.

“We need to get movin’.”

“Just give it a bit longer?” Callum asked. He jumped when the crow bounced in place, spinning around so that he landed facing Callum, beady eyes glinting in the early morning sun. “He’s just a kid. It was a late night,”

Rayla considered this for a moment, and their two dæmons stared each other down. Cerys hopped onto Kalila’s shoulder and fluffed herself up – nowhere near as impressive as the way the crow dæmon hunched his shoulders and likewise ruffled himself up to look bigger and more menacing. Callum gulped and shrank back as Cerys held her ground. They _always_ lost these sorts of disputes, especially to Soren.

It came as a surprise when the elf suddenly tossed her head, unsettling her own dæmon so that he had to take flight and flap over to a nearby log, where he stared back at her balefully. Without looking at Callum or Cerys, she said, “Fine. But don’t wait too long. I’m gonna go check we weren’t followed.” And with that, she stood up and walked away. Her dæmon was annoyed, and he made that very apparent when he flew at her and pecked the back of her head before flying off as far as he could go without causing them both pain.

Callum blinked, trying to process the turn of events, and smiled at Cerys as her thoughts mingled with his. Human’s weren’t the only ones to have dysfunctional relationships with their dæmons, apparently.

Cerys fluttered back to his bag, and they picked up on that trail of thought again. He pulled the orb he had taken from Claudia out into the sunlight, and examined it more closely now that he wasn’t distracted by his crush or smoke monsters or assassins. It was quite beautiful; there was something hypnotic about the swirling clouds and quivering tongues of lightning. He felt again the thrill in his veins, as he had when he had cast the wind breath spell. Cerys gently pecked her beak against the smooth, glassy side of the orb. It had such a strange texture; somehow slippery, but kind of brittle like glass, but immensely strong, to seemingly contain an _actual_ storm.

Callum flexed his itching fingers, reaching without looking for his sketchbook. Drawing helped him to shake his thoughts into coherent order, and after the night he had had, he could do with some therapeutic activity. Cerys nudged his hand in the right direction as it wandered around in search for his book. Once he had it, he took the ball in his left hand, set the sketchbook on his right leg, and started to sketch. Cerys flew up to perch in her usual place on his shoulder, and watched the picture slowly find form.

The lightning was particularly difficult to capture with charcoal. Callum had an incredible memory for detail, and he only needed to see something once to be able to reproduce it on paper. That said, being able to draw something that he could only see for a brief second was still rather challenging. And Callum liked a good challenge when it came to art. He was soon so thoroughly absorbed that both he and Cerys became oblivious to their surroundings. The only things that existed were the orb, the pencil, the page, and the knee the book rested on.

“Hey!”

Callum started, and Cerys fluttered in alarm, almost taking flight. They both looked up to see Rayla standing over them, apparently having made up with her dæmon, because he was perched on her shoulder relatively peaceably.

“That’s your name, right? Callum?” she smiled faintly with suppressed mischief as she cast around for variants of his name. “Clem? Or was it Camel?”

“Uh,” he really didn’t know what to make of her. “It’s Callum.” He gave her a nervous smile, and she made to sit down beside him. He had half expected her to demand they wake up Ezran and get going. He felt he owed her an explanation for having zoned out, so he explained, “I guess I was just distracted trying to draw this…prima-ball.” He held it up to her.

“Primal Stone.” She corrected with little patience in her tone.

Cerys, perched on the shoulder closest to the elf, flapped her wings with ill-disguised anxiety; the crow dæmon just blinked his big black eyes at her, and did nothing.

“Right.” Callum agreed quickly. Wanting to look a bit more cultured and sophisticated (i.e. like a prince) than he really felt, he went on, “It holds the pure essence of a primal spirit inside.”

Rayla rolled her eyes with a sardonic smile. “Primal Source?” she corrected, questioning his efficacy with her teasing tone as she looked at him sideways.

“Right,” he agreed again, losing confidence quickly. Cerys fluttered again, rearranging her wings; the thought was passed along to Callum that she remembered how sharp the other dæmon’s claws were, although his posture gave no indication that he was prepared to attack.

“You do _know_ what the Six Primal Sources are?” Rayla asked.

Her dæmon gave a soft caw, and Cerys relaxed against Callum’s neck. If his dæmon wasn’t afraid of them, then he had little reason to be, either.

Still a bit uncertain of how to approach the situation (he had, after all, never met an elf before yesterday), Callum blurted out, “Uh, if I say _yes_ , are you gonna make me name them?” this had all the hallmarks of a lesson – the kind he usually failed at.

Rayla rolled her eyes again and made a sound of impatience, holding a hand out to him. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching a decision, and handed over his beloved sketchbook. He was almost as attached to it as he was to Cerys; if his dæmon was his soul, his sketchbook was his heart. It was a wrench to hand it over to a complete stranger. Rayla opened the book to a clean page, and started to roughly sketch a series of symbols in an approximate circle.

“All magic in the world comes from the Primal Sources.” She explained as her dæmon hopped from her shoulder to her knee.

Despite his prior reservations, Callum leaned forward to get a better look at the shapes taking form under Rayla’s hand. Cerys cooed softly, leaning forward as well, intensely curious.

“They’re the original and purest forms of magical energy. The Sun, the Moon, the Stars, the Earth, the Ocean, _and_ …” she tapped the Primal Stone on the ground between them with the end of the pencil.

Cerys swooped down to the ground beside it, her wings clipping Callum’s knee as she landed, and pecked again at the surface of the globe. A little fork of lightning creased the clouds within, touching the other side of the glass that held the storm inside, right under her beak.

Callum carefully lifted the Stone with a smile, and Cerys flapped clumsily onto his knee. “The Sky.” He added, rubbing his dæmon’s neck fondly. She cooed back affectionately.

He couldn’t help but notice Rayla’s accent as she had listed off the different Sources. It was soft, almost lyrical; her tongue shaped the vowels so differently to what he was used to. It was incredibly pleasant to listen to.

“Yes.” Next to them, the crow dæmon flapped up to sit on the elf’s horn again, watching them all passively and moving effortlessly to account for the way Rayla’s head tilted and turned as she spoke, explaining, “To cast a spell, a mage needs Primal Energy. So that wind breath spell y’did?” she gestured up at the sky above them, her dæmon balanced perfectly on her horn despite the shift. “You’d usually need a storm, or at least a strong breeze. But with that Stone,” she turned to look at it in his hands. “You have _all_ the power of the Sky, _any time_.”

“Wow.” Callum said appreciatively. This was way more informative that what Claudia had told him – or anything Lord Viren had ever tried to explain about magic. He supposed that shouldn’t come as a surprise, since Rayla _was_ from Xadia, where the magic _literally_ happened.

“Primal Stones are _incredibly_ rare. They’ve been sought after by the most powerful Archmages in history.” Rayla closed his sketch book with a decisive flick of the wrist, and handed it back to him, her smile a bit coy and mischievous. If her dæmon gave anything away, Callum didn’t know him well enough to read it. “And now, somehow _you_ have one.” Her smile became more sardonic and teasing again.

Callum flicked open to the page she had just drawn on for a closer look. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had tried to teach him something, and feeling this excited to actually _learn_.

Something flickered in his memory, passing over his mind’s eye. Cerys fluttered restlessly, fanning her wings, anxious to take flight, and Callum’s expression turned pensive.

 _The King holding a box that rattled as he walked, bending down to show Callum when he asked what it was. A pile of keys, of all difference shapes, metals and sizes, and_ -

“Wait, I- I’ve seen these before! At the Banther Lodge!” They’d had a magical artifact the whole time, and they hadn’t known it? Callum was already getting to his feet; in her agitation Cerys took off and flew in a graceful arc before coming to land on his shoulder, shuffling and rearranging her wings over and over, betraying his excitement.

Rayla looked stony faced at this information, so he continued to explain, realising he was probably getting ahead of himself again.

“There was this little cube thing, and it had these _exact_ symbols on it.” He pointed at the drawings, still amazed by the connection.

“Uhhh…neat.” Rayla said unenthusiastically. Her dæmon gave a derisive caw and bobbed as he spun around to fix the sleeping bundle of limbs across the clearing with his stare. They wanted to get moving, clearly.

Undeterred, Callum pressed, “What if it’s magic? We _have_ to go get it.” He snapped his book shut and looped the strap over his shoulder before reaching down for the Primal Stone. He was so excited at the prospect of learning magic!

Rayla, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so thrilled by his idea.

“Wait, _what_?” she got gracefully to her feet in one flowing motion, and her dæmon cawed at Callum with annoyance. “We have _real_ problems to worry about. Endin’ the war, takin’ the dragon egg back to Xadia… _Remember_?”

“Xadia’s to the east, right? So is the lodge, it’s on the way!” he gestured, trying to hammer his point home.

Cerys fluttered her wings on his shoulder and half closed her eyes. “She has a point, Callum.” She murmured gently.

“Thank you!” Rayla waved her hands above her head theatrically. “Finally, a voice of reason!”

Cerys may have agreed with the elf’s sentiment, but her derision towards Callum had the dove puffing her chest up and looking self-righteous and indignant on her person’s behalf.

“Oh, it’s such a great idea!” Rayla snapped back at the pair of them, gesturing with both hands as she rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it won’t be crawlin’ with humans. Humans that are _looking for you_ and want to _kill me_!” she pointed first at Callum, then herself, and then struck a very sarcastic stance of mock celebration. “Yay!” her dæmon gave a scornful bark of laughter and glared at Callum as Rayla folded her arms with annoyance and turned away from him.

“No, it’s the winter lodge. It’s been empty for months, trust me.”

Rayla didn’t budge, and her dæmon stared them both down with a piercing glare.

The bubble of excitement that had been welling up inside Callum burst, and it left an unpleasant, hollow feeling in his chest. He sighed, looking away from Rayla, trying to hide his disappointment. Cerys nuzzled into his neck with a gentle coo, and he reached up to stroke her feathers, taking comfort from the contact.

“ _Look_ …” how did he even begin to explain the convoluted knot of feelings inside him right now? Cerys dipped her head and nibbled the edge of his jaw. Her thoughts crossed his in the shared space between their minds: _from the heart_. “Rayla, princes are supposed to be good at things. Sword fighting, leadership, riding horses… But I’ve always been kind of bad at…well, everything.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his head. “So, when I tried that spell, I was sure I’d end up on _fire_ or covered in spiders – but it _worked_. And then you called me a mage, and that felt… _right_.”

Like the scales had fallen from his eyes and he was seeing for the very first time. Like it had felt the day he realised that Cerys couldn’t change anymore, and he found that he was so happy with her settled form. It had felt _right_ , like knowing the sun rose in the east and set in the west, that gravity kept him earthbound, that hot coals burned if you touched them – as easy and natural and intuitive as drawing breath.

“I…I just have this feeling that cube thing could help me.” He admitted, feeling a bit sheepish. Pouring his heart out was something he was good at. His stepfather had commented on more than one occasion that Callum wore his heart proudly on his sleeves. Why he was telling all this to a stranger, a stranger he might add who had been hell bent on killing him in those first few minutes, was beyond Callum’s understanding.

Maybe he just felt the need to air his thoughts and feelings, to assuage the threat of the dull, hollow ache deep in his chest when Rayla laughed at him or just shot down his idea in favour of something more practical and _useful_.

Cerys snuggled into his neck, rubbing her face against him in silent support, and he nuzzled back with a sad smile. At least there was _someone_ who understood his tangled web of emotions.

Callum was jolted from his reverie at the sound of his name. Cerys flapped her wings and swooped down to meet Kalila halfway. The dæmon shifted from a banther to a parrot in her sleepy state, before landing clumsily beside Cerys and turning into a wood pigeon. As Callum crossed the space between them, they started grooming each other amicably, and he left Rayla in peace under the tree.

“I had a _weird_ dream,” Ezran told him, yawning widely.

Callum crouched down beside him solemnly. “It wasn’t a dream, Ez. All of that was real.”

“Are you _sure_?” Ezran questioned, thinking deeply about it.

Their dæmons flapped over to them; Cerys perched on Callum’s shoulder, while Kalila landed on Ezran’s lap and changed into a pine martin.

“There was this…giant hippopotamus, and I pulled its ear off, because it was made of taffy.”

“Uhh… _no_. That- _that_ was a dream,” Callum smiled, resisting the urge to ruffle his little brother’s hair. The things that came out of the boy’s head… “I thought you meant the elves, the smoke wolves, the dragon egg. _That_ was all real.”

Ezran wasn’t listening. Or at least not paying him any mind. Kalila scrambled onto his shoulder and jumped, turning into a baby hippopotamus for effect, and paraded around them in a wide circle. Cerys perched herself on her back, giving Callum that loving and long suffering look that spoke of the many years they had been indulging these two.

“Then I tried to thank the hippo for the taffy, but he couldn’t hear me, because I was eating his ears.”

Callum smiled when Kalila chipped in. “It tasted _amazing_! Do you think we could get Barius to make taffy flavoured jelly tarts?!”

Cerys slumped her shoulders with a sigh that was only just audible.

“Hey sad prince.” Rayla said, suddenly behind them.

Callum had almost forgotten about her, this wonderfully bizarre moment had felt so normal. His face fell a little, the taut, hollow feeling in his chest threatening to grow. Cerys flew back to his shoulder with concern, and Kalila pounced into Ezran’s arms, turning into a house cat as she landed.

Rayla had a smile on her face, even as she glanced away to the side with a sigh. “Let’s go get your cube.”

Callum’s heart leapt with joy. “Really?” he asked as he got to his feet, turning to look at her fully and try to gauge her.

Rayla’s dæmon was still sitting on her horn, watching them with a haughty kind of air about him. Maybe deep down Rayla was thinking better of it, or she was just indulging him…either way, he was grateful she had conceded on the point.

“Yes. Just, _please_ ,” she tilted her head back dramatically, her smile turning sardonic again. It seemed to be a default expression for her. She spun on her back heel and started to walk eastward. “No more detours, all right? Or heartfelt speeches.”

Callum felt a bit self-conscious at this, but he smiled nonetheless, glad for her understanding even if her mannerisms were a bit acerbic. He turned to look at Ezran, who was lifting the egg into his arms.

“So…?” his brother asked, having missed the first part of that particular conversation.

“To the Banther Lodge!” Callum beamed, spreading his arms wide. Cerys took flight and performed a loop with exuberance, and there was a spring in his step as Callum set off after Rayla.

She must have been just a _little_ bit annoyed with this diversion to their course, because her dæmon flew at Cerys as she performed more aerobatics out of sheer joy. He didn’t get close enough to actually hurt her, but the threat was still very much implied. Callum started when Kalila turned into a jay and flapped after him out of curiosity. The crow dæmon squawked and rapidly zoomed back to Rayla, uncertain of how to deal with the child dæmon. Cerys intercepted Kalila, and they flapped about in mid-air for a brief moment before Cerys went back to Callum’s shoulder, and Kalila turned into a black Labrador.

“What’s a good form for walking long distance?” Ezran asked as they followed Rayla.

Callum sighed and gave him a patient smile. “Whatever feels most comfortable.”

XOXO

After Callum pointed them in the right direction, Rayla scouted out the path through the woods towards this Banther Lodge the human was so eager to get to. Cornix was miffed with her for agreeing, and showed his distaste by occasionally swooping from his perch to fly as far from her as possible before coming back and landing heavily, sometimes giving her a nip to let her know he was still annoyed. She ignored his petulance, as she usually did when he didn’t like her plans, and pressed on.

Honestly, Rayla was a little impressed. She had never heard good things about humans, and it was commonly held among her people that aristocrats and royalty were relatively spoiled and soft. Even the kids who weren’t destined to be warriors in her community were expected to have at least _some_ knowledge and experience in fighting and wilderness survival. And yet, the boys hadn’t complained once about the rough sleeping or the lack of breakfast, or the long walk they were on. All Callum had asked for was the chance to get this little cube thing, and some consideration for Ezran’s younger age.

Following her train of thought, Cornix landed on her horn on the next pass by, and watched the older of the two brothers, assessing, trying to suss the boy out.

The dove dæmon at first appeared to not notice while Callum and Ezran exchanged a few words about carrying the egg (Ezran insisting that he was fine with the weight for now), but then she lifted her head and met Cornix’s gaze levelly. Callum didn’t react, and Cornix stared back, unwilling to back down.

She was a soft sandy sort of greyish brown, with a beautiful rose-tinted blush around her head, neck and back. Soft, round eyes the colour of rich chocolate gazed back placidly at the other dæmon. The black marking on the nape of her neck was asymmetrical, almost but not quite a mirror image of the royal banners Rayla had seen in passing the day before; the same as the one on Callum’s scarf. She really was quite beautiful. Cerys, was it again…?

Among many other things, Rayla had been told that human dæmons were as unremarkable and plain as their humans’ lack of a connection to real magic. Elven dæmons were almost always magical in nature, and those that weren’t – like Rayla and Cornix – were so distinct and different from actual animals, that it was impossible to mistake them for anything other than an elf’s dæmon. And yet, here was a human dæmon, with such an intriguing patten on her, only a few inches across by a couple of inches high. Other than that, she looked just like a real collared dove. Except that she wasn’t – she _looked_ like a dæmon.

Ezran’s dæmon was an enigma to them. She kept changing form; from a dog to a small pony, then a bear and a fish eagle, to a raven and then a strange sort of kangaroo-looking mouse Rayla didn’t know the name of, before becoming a collared dove like Callum’s. She looked so different to the other dæmon, and while Rayla was pondering this she changed again, into a large dragonfly with a shimmering, iridescent red shell and gossamer wings.

Rayla imagined Cornix must have looked very exotic to the human boys. The white was tinged slightly blue, and the black with a purple, oily sheen visible even in low light. The pattern itself was completely symmetrical and curved, with pale lines running sinuously along both the top and underside of his wings. He even had vertical, curved lines that cleft the feathers around his eyes, like her own marks – except that she had stopped painting the lines above her eyes when she was about twelve because she thought it looked better this way on her. He took off, feeling restless, and flew a lap around the travelling party, eyes and ears alert for any danger.

When Cornix came back he settled down facing ahead, watching the approaching path with Rayla.

“Will this take much longer?” he griped, reluctant to speak out loud in front of the humans.

“Hopefully not. We have a lot of ground to cover.” She said briskly.

The child dæmon, now a springer spaniel, yipped behind them, and Cornix bounced on Rayla’s head, from one horn to the other as he turned around and fixed the Crown Prince with a beady stare, his elf not deigning to turn around to look at the boy herself.

“What?” he cawed angrily, snapping his head around to glower at Callum who bristled in response.

His own dæmon flapped her wings in agitation but didn’t take off. Rayla glanced sideways at them, noting again that the mage’s dæmon was actually very pretty. The sunlight caught the sheen of her feathers, and made the rose even more pronounced. She looked like a painting Rayla had once seen of a Sunfire goddess of the dawn.

“I didn’t get your name.” Ezran said politely, clutching the dragon egg closer to his chest.

Cornix blinked slowly, unsure of what to make of this little human they were stuck babysitting. Rayla said carelessly over her shoulder, “His name is Cornix.”

“Hi Cornix. It’s nice to meet you.” Ezran said with a smile.

It was a good thing birds weren’t very expressive in their faces, and that these idiots didn’t know how to read Cornix. He froze, and Rayla had to adjust the way she held her head as they continued to walk. Freezing was _not_ a good thing. It meant indecision, missed opportunities. She shook her head to clear it, unsettling her dæmon and spurring him back into action. More than anything else, the fact that the child’s dæmon turned into a crow herself had startled Cornix. She was sleek, black all over, smaller than him; but she cawed appealingly and wriggled her tail like she wanted to play. Among Moonshadow elves, interacting with someone else’s dæmon was very rare in the normal course of things, even for another dæmon; Cornix didn’t know how to respond to this display. Only the dæmons of very small children mimicked the shape of the adults around them, in Rayla’s experience.

“Ez,” Callum said quietly, drawing up alongside his little brother, watching the crow dæmon glower at them from his perch. “Talking to an elf’s dæmon is probably just about as rude as talking to a human’s.”

“But I can’t talk to Rayla when her back’s turned.” Ezran pointed out, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And Cornix is looking right at me.”

“Ezran,” Callum said, gentle but firm.

He looked down at the ground for a few footsteps, and then up again. Cornix stared balefully back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Less talkin’, more walkin’.” Rayla put in over her shoulder. “It’s a long enough way to Xadia without takin’ unnecessary detours.”

“Don’t want to know their names too?” Ezran asked innocently.

Rayla felt Cornix’s exasperation as his shoulders drooped, wondering how they had managed to get saddled with this. Because she had her back turned to them, she allowed herself a smile at his expense.

“Is this _really_ necessary?” Cornix croaked.

“Well,” Callum coughed politely. “In Katolis, it’s generally considered polite to introduce your dæmon when you first meet someone.”

“And in Xadia it’s considered rude to talk directly to someone else’s dæmon.” Cornix retorted.

Ezran’s dæmon became a honeybee, with gorgeous, intricate markings on her back, and hovered close but not too close to him. “My name is Kalila. And she’s Cerys.”

“Charmed.” Cornix said flatly. He leaned forward and snapped his beak at the little insect. “Now get out of my face.”

Callum bristled and his dæmon took off to fly at him and defend Kalila, But Rayla beat her to it.

“Give over, you great fluffy baby,” Rayla said casually, reaching up to knock him from his perch.

Cornix tweaked her ear with annoyance and flapped off as far as he could go, and sulked there on the periphery.

“I’m sorry.” Callum said hastily. “Kalila’s just overly friendly,”

“Ehh, it’s fine. He’ll come back when he’s over it,”

“I didn’t mean to offend either of you.” Ezran added, prompting Rayla to turn fully and look the prince in the face as she no longer had eyes in the back of her head. He was, as she had suspected from his tone of voice, completely without guile.

These two were _nothing_ like the terrible things she had heard about humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t intend to rewrite this scene play by play but I got sucked in with the question of: ‘WHAT IF they did had dæmons?’ So this happened xD Unless people specifically want more like this I’ll probably refrain from rewriting scenes from episodes in this manner – it is a surprisingly tedious and repetitive exercise, not especially original, and kind of a pain to keep going back over episode in question instead of just typing out the story in one go.  
> I’m open to suggestions and requests on this story, go crazy if there’s something you’d like to see in particular.


	3. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 Episodes 8 and 9: While Callum and Cerys are unconscious and feverish from their brush with Dark magic, Rayla and Cornix try their best to care for them, but things rapidly escalate. And while she’s trying to look after them, Rayla comes to realise what Callum means to her.

Callum was getting steadily worse; Cerys had stopped being responsive and lay slumped against his shoulder. Her tiny chest fluttered with her increasingly ragged breathing, and the colour was draining from Callum’s face, leaving a horrible grey pallor that was starting to scare Rayla.

She knew what a corpse looked like, and she was getting worried that he more and more resembled a death mask.

Cornix flitted about in agitation, more so now that Corvus was gone to track down Ezran, so they didn’t have an audience to witness their fear. Rayla was angry, hurt, afraid, _so_ frustrated. They could have been in Xadia by now, or at the very least waiting at the edge of the divide for moonrise. If Callum hadn’t used Dark magic… If she hadn’t insisted on going back to help that dragon…

If he hadn’t, she knew she would probably be dead or worse. That didn’t make the sting of his betrayal any easier to bear right now.

All Rayla could really do was mop Callum’s brow and bite her tongue when she felt like blaming him. Words fell from his lips occasionally in a jumbled mess; he was clearly either dreaming vividly or straight up hallucinating. But he wasn’t behaving in any of the ways she was trained to perceive, where poisons and toxins were concerned. She had no idea what was wrong with him, and without any ingredients or equipment, she couldn’t get to the bottom of it or ease his suffering.

Cornix cawed in alarm, and Rayla’s head snapped around to look. Cerys was beating her wings rapidly from where she was lying on the stone floor. She groaned, and then suddenly Callum was gasping as though he were drowning, like his lungs were working furiously but no amount of air was enough to save him. Rayla panicked, frozen in place while her dæmon shrieked in alarm and distress, flapping around unhelpfully – so much so that she threw one of the bags at him, almost on the verge of hysterics herself.

“Shut up!”

Cornix threw his head back and cried out, beating his wings as he hopped from side to side.

“This isn’t helpin’!” Rayla choked on a sob, grabbing Callum’s shoulders. “Callum! Wake up!”

Cornix flew away as far as he could go without causing them both pain and nausea. He fluttered around uselessly, cawing his distress loudly so that she could better bite down the sobs that threatened to wrack her whole body.

And then Callum jerked, and Cerys suddenly burst upwards in a whirl of soft grey and rose-coloured feathers. Rayla yelped and jerked out of the way, trying to avoid her. She turned to look at Callum, but his face was still grey and lined, his chest heaving.

“Rayla!” Cornix barked sharply, and she spun round.

Cerys had dropped to the rocks, and was tumbling down the slope, towards the edge of the cliff-

Callum cried out in pain through his delirium and called his dæmon’s name, shaking and crying the further she fell from him.

Rayla bolted without a second thought – Cornix was too far away to reach her in time, and he probably wouldn’t have been able to catch her without falling further away too, and incapacitating them all. She closed the distance between them, and hesitated for a moment, wide eyed and horrified at what she was about to do.

But if she didn’t, Cerys was going to topple off the edge of the cliff altogether – it could kill both her and Callum.

Rayla grabbed the dove dæmon and yanked her back from the edge with a startled cry. She was so shocked that she fell over backwards and lay there, staring up at the bright blue sky with Cerys clutched to her chest, the way Callum so often did. Her eyes were incredibly wide as she held her breath.

She could feel the tiny heart under her hands, beating frantically; her chest rose and fell in time with the harsh panting she could hear from the cave where Callum was writhing in agony.

She was holding someone else’s dæmon in her hands.

 _Callum’s_ dæmon.

“Rayla! Help!” Cornix was bouncing around him anxiously, watching him deteriorate.

Rayla got shakily to her feet. Cerys was alive but unresponsive; she twitched in Rayla’s hands like she was in shock. Rayla should put her down, should not be touching her – should _never_ have held her in the first place-

She ran back to the cave, jittery and frazzled by the situation. She dropped the dove dæmon next to Callum, and Cornix stood over her in case she flew up again unexpectedly. Rayla shook Callum’s shoulders again.

He had almost died just then – if Cerys had fallen either the separation would have put his body into even greater shock, or the fall itself would have snapped Cerys’ spine or crushed her skull.

And he still might die. Callum’s fever burned his brow, he was still gasping for air. Cerys groaned and rolled under Cornix’s watchful gaze, and he very gently pinned her in place to stop her from getting hurt. His caws were soft and soothing, and Rayla’s heart leapt with joyful pain when she cooed back dazedly.

With Cerys being taken care of, Rayla turned her attention back to Callum. With no one around, and having already lost all sense of propriety, she openly begged Callum to wake up, to come back, to not leave her.

She was getting hysterical.

He was her best friend.

She couldn’t lose him.

She had _touched his_ _d_ _æmon_.

She had put her hands underneath Cerys and lifted her up, held the collared dove to her own chest, as though she were her own dæmon.

It was _wrong_.

So why didn’t it feel quite so awful? The only person who had ever touched Cornix besides her was Runaan, and that had been strictly under training conditions, with witnesses to ensure nothing untoward happened. It had been part of the preparations for the ill-fated trip to Katolis, to prepare Rayla for any of the nasty tricks she had believed all humans capable of. Runaan had been grim and reluctant, but told her it was necessary – she needed at least _some_ practise and she needed to know what it would feel like, so she would know how to respond.

It had been _awful_ – Cornix had grown up with Runaan as well, and he had gone completely out of his mind to be held by someone else.

What had Rayla just done?

And underneath all of this, was a nagging, _burning_ realisation that threatened to break over her head like some monstrous wave.

She didn’t want to lose him, didn’t feel awful about carrying his dæmon, because she loved him.

She loved Callum so fiercely it actually hurt – a terrible aching in her chest that had nothing to do with the rapid beat of her adrenaline filled heart.

“I can’t lose you,” she told him, holding him close, trying to angle his body to keep his airways open. “You mean too much to me.” She drew back just enough to be able to see his face. “Callum,” her voice wavered as she reached towards him.

If he died…she would never be able to tell him. Never be able to apologise for the gross act of indecency she had committed by holding that part of his soul in her arms.

Would never know if there was a chance her feelings might be reciprocated.

Cornix cawed melancholically. He shared her fears and offered no constructive help – just empathy and fear.

Rayla desperately wanted to say it out loud; the words got stuck on her tongue, at the back of her throat, choking her as she tried desperately to master her fear.

Something moved deep within him, and then –

Callum gasped with a different quality, and jerked upright in her arms. Dark green eyes stared past her for a moment, and Cerys beat her wings for a few frantic moments before settling down under Cornix’s watchful gaze. He wiped his beak against her neck and cawed gently, and she clumsily got to her feet, chest still rapidly rising and falling.

“Oh! You’re awake now!” Rayla blurted out, desperate to recover some composure despite the hammering of her heart. “You’re even lookin’ cheery!”

Callum blinked and refocused his gaze, looking directly at her and really _seeing_ her. Rayla’s heart leapt in response. She was aware of Cerys through her own dæmon; the dove was wobbly and woozy but increasingly alert, meeting Cornix’s gaze and responding to his prodding.

“And- is that a _twinkle_ in your eye? Oh, no. It’s one of those sleep crusties,” she licked her thumb reflexively and reached over, the way her father used to when she was little. It felt like such a dumb thing to do. With the stark realisation of how she truly felt, every gesture she made was suddenly leaden with double meaning. “Here, let me-”

Cornix cawed derisively, heart as jittery as her own. His thoughts bled into her own mind, clear, loud and sharp: _Could you_ be _any more obvious?!_

“I have it.”

Rayla paused, blinking in surprise. Callum looked so…peaceful. Calm. Like he hadn’t almost died a minute ago. Cerys fluttered to his shoulder, where she usually sat, and settled in to lean against his cheek with a soft coo. A gentle, tired smile touched his lips, and it pulled at something inside Rayla’s chest.

“I understand the Sky Arcanum.”

She blinked and leaned back for a moment, uncomprehending. Cornix flapped up to sit on one of her horns, bouncing about face so he was looking at Callum and cocked his head to one side, gauging the human’s state of mind from his own dæmon. Cerys met the gaze steadily, just as peaceable as her human.

“We have it.” Cerys said softly, rearranging her wings. “The Sky. We understand.”


	4. Human Rayla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 1 Episode 7: Rayla and Cornix need to disguise themselves so they can enter the human town and find help for the egg of the Dragon Prince.

They finally crested over the rise, Cornix cawing to confirm Rayla’s suspicions, and she smiled at their good luck.

“There it is, a town!”

“Told you it was wood smoke,” Cornix said smugly, flying past Callum so that he was close to Cerys, who harrumphed in response.

Rayla waved her dæmon away without turning to look at him as he swooped down to sit on Kalila’s head (who was in the form of an arctic fox for the snow).

“Maybe we can find help,” Rayla continued, undeterred.

“Okay, sure,” Callum made a show of deliberating over the issue while Cerys bobbed on his shoulder to shift her weight, and fluttered her wings in an attempt to stay warm. “We _might_ find a dragon egg expert. But we will _definitely_ find a bunch of _elf-hating_ humans,” he folded his arms for emphasis, and Cerys bounced again in agitation, ruffling her wings.

“Pfft,” Rayla waved a hand at him, her attitude carefree and reckless. “No problem!” she reached for Ezran’s backpack and drew out the cloak. She bounded across the snow and dropped into a crouch, grinning like an idiot. “Get ready to meet…” she spun quickly as she stood up, pulling the hood over her head to hide her horns, coming to rest with her fists on her hips while Cornix spun through the air ostentatiously in a tight spiral around her. “Human Rayla!”

Callum resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation. He spread his hands in a gesture without apology and attempted to shoot her idea down pre-emptively. “Yeah, I’m not sure that’s gonna cut it.”

Rayla just about contained her laughter. She was having a lot of fun with this, apparently, if the way Cornix was now bouncing around on the snow beside her was anything to go by. Callum winced internally, hoping his concern didn’t show on his face, when he saw the state of her left arm. It looked badly bruised; the term ‘pressure necrosis’ sprang to mind. She must be in a lot of pain – and yet here she was, bounding around like she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Just wait! Once I pair my disguise with m’ _perfect_ human impression, the illusion will be complete!” she made lots of grand gestures, like she was on a stage performing a melodramatic monologue in a play.

Callum might have even enjoyed her exuberance if they didn’t have a thousand and one things to worry about right now, or the fact that he just _knew_ she was going to take the opportunity to make fun of their people. He folded his arms and tried to brace himself, Cerys fluttering on his shoulder, anxious to be moving on behalf of the egg.

Rayla turned her back to them, and Cornix balanced on her shoulder. She spun round with a grin and an absolutely horrendous accent that wasn’t even Katolian, and said, “Greetin’s! Fella humans, human fellas!” she pointed at Callum before sidling up to him and giving him a friendly dig in the arm. Cerys skittered on his opposite shoulder, alarmed and unsure of what to do. Cornix cawed loudly, looking rather smugly at her. “I sure do like hangin’ out with other humans,” she reached an arm out to wrap around Callum’s shoulders, and Cerys fluttered again, lifting her wings and tail clear to make sure they didn’t make contact. Callum narrowed his eyes at Rayla and went stiff under her touch. “And talkin’ about things like _money_ ,” Rayla let go, realising how close she had been to someone else’s dæmon, and striking a dramatic pose to recover from her moment of impropriety.

“And startin’ wars!” Cornix crowed, hopping back and forth on his perch in a parody of dancing.

“That’s…pretty good, actually,” Ezran said to Callum, with the beginnings of a smile.

Callum should have known better than to count on Ez for support in this. Kalila turned into a chocolate Labrador and bucked her hind legs with excitement. “More! More!” she cried.

“Totally, my good, human friend!” she walked towards her ally with a grin. “Bring it in, high four!” she held her right hand out to Ezran, and he obligingly raised his own hand to clap against it enthusiastically.

Callum was about to raise an objection, when Ezran pointed at her dæmon. “What about Cornix?”

True, he stood out like a sore thumb with the very distinctive markings all over his feathers. A hooded crow would have been eye catching and unusual enough on its own, without the very overt patterns that marked him as a Xadian dæmon.

The dæmon in question obliged by launching himself into a snow drift and bursting forth in a shower of fine white powder, which did admittedly cover his black feathers, but would surely melt the moment he got close to a source of heat.

“Tah dah!” he barked, bouncing around on the snow, resisting the urge to shake himself down, still affecting a terrible accent that did not in any way suit him. “I’m a dove!”

Callum gave him a flat, unimpressed look. Cerys rearranged her wings, fluffed up her chest and said, “Yeah. Just _no_.”

“What happens when it melts?” Callum pointed out.

“I’ll just stay near Rayla. Her cold heart will preserve the snow-”

Rayla chucked a loose ball of snow at him. “Oh shush you!”

“Shush yourself!” he cawed at her, swooping by and pecking at one of her horns reflexively through the fabric.

“So, yeah. Conspicuous dæmon, and…can you impersonate a fifth finger, by any chance?” Callum asked, hoping that she would give up on this escapade.

Rayla blinked, and looked at her hand, seemingly realising for the first time the very prominent differences in human and elf anatomy. “Right, right…”

The bubble was burst. But it didn’t remain so for long. Callum could practically see the gears in her head turning over with irrepressible mischief. She smiled slyly and looked over her shoulder at the nearest building, just down the slope

“I need some kind of a… _hand disguise_.” Cornix took flight and soared across the distance between them and the dwelling, and Rayla bounded after him, crying out, “Look, snow-elf!”

Ezran frowned slightly as they began to trudge after her, Kalila shifting into a robin and fluttering after Cornix. “I’m pretty sure that’s a snow _man_.”

Callum turned to look his dæmon in the eye, and she sagged. “Is it too late to turn back?”

“Pretty sure that ship sailed days ago.” He told her, irony twisting his lips into a smile. He grinned briefly when she nibbled his ear affectionately, and he nuzzled his cheek against her feathers. Cerys cooed back to him happily, and he took a lot of comfort and strength from the exchange.

While they were talking, Rayla rushed over and snagged a pair of gloves from the snow man, pulling them on and spinning around flamboyantly to show off her new accessories.

“Hand disguise!” she was beaming, but then the empty fingers drooped rather conspicuously, and her smile faltered.

Cornix flapped onto her good wrist and pecked at the worn leather. “That worked better in your head,” he told her unhelpfully, forgetting to affect an accent.

Rayla retaliated by dropping her right arm so that he had to launch himself into the air, and waved her hands around listlessly, watching the pinky fingers flap uselessly.

“Just don’t shake hands with anyone.” Callum said, trying not to heave a sigh. Instead, he adopted a more gentle expression as he turned to Cornix. “Now then.” He folded his arms. “What’re we gonna do with _you_?”

Rayla payed him no attention, and instead grabbed the carrot nose on the snow man and snapped it in half. Then she wedged the two halves into the head on either side, and took a step back to admire her work.

“Snow-elf.” She said emphatically in an undertone.

“Focus!” Cornix hopped around on the ground and cawed at her. “We have a Human Rayla, what about Totally-A-Human’s-Dæmon Cornix?”

“Right, right,” she said vaguely, turning away from her handiwork.

“Y’know, I think its an improvement.” Kalila said, landing beside Cornix and turning into a magpie, surveying the snow elf. “It almost oozes magic!”

“ _You_ are not helping,” Callum said pointing at her accusingly.

“Don’t talk to my dæmon that way!” Ezran piped up, gripping the straps on his backpack. “She’s just trying to help!”

“Okay, _everybody_ just be quiet for a moment,” Callum said, casting around for what objects were at their disposal. “We need to make Cornix look like a plain old, regular Katolian crow.”

The dæmon bounced around on the snow at their feet and croaked derisively. “I _resent_ that!”

Cerys fluttered down and landed in front of him. She pecked at his face, and while he didn’t retreat, he tucked his beak up against his chest to avoid her ire. “Be serious for once! The sooner you and Rayla can enter the town safely, the sooner the egg can get help!”

“Okay, calm down,” Rayla began, and took a step back when the dove dæmon took off and fluttered about a foot from her face.

“ _You_ are the absolute _worst_ -!”

Callum saw the look on Rayla’s face, and rushed to intervene. He could feel Cerys’ anxiety, but he also saw the brief look of shock on the elf’s face, followed by hurt as she looked away, hand going to grasp her injured wrist. What his dæmon said had clearly upset her, a lot more deeply than she was willing to admit to.

“Cerys, you’re not helping either,” he said evenly, raising his voice. She fluttered back to the ground where she shuffled and beat her wings and was generally in a state of agitation. Callum took another deep breath. “Okay,” he put his hands to his temples and closed his eyes, trying to visualise the problem. “It’d be easier to darken the white patches than to lighten the darker ones. What’s the snow man’s-”

“Snow elf.” Rayla interjected.

“What is its face made out of?” he asked heavily, resisting the urge to have a go at her, thinking that getting ticked off by Cerys was enough for one day. She was usually so quite and obliging that, on the rare occasion she did pipe up, it usually stung the recipient.

“Err…snow and,” Rayla plucked one of its eyes out. “Pebbles.”

“And the ones on the body?”

“More pebbles,” she poked at them.

Callum sighed, pressing his fingertips to his brow. “If they were coal we could…”

Cerys flapped up to his shoulder as the thought began to solidify in his mind.

“Wait a minute,” he unslung his haversack and rummaged around inside. “Yes! This might work!”

“What?” Rayla asked, crowding forward with Ezran to see what he was up to.

Cornix flapped up to her shoulder, almost going for her horn out of habit but then thinking better of it. Callum straightened up and held out a spare pencil to her.

“Charcoal! Here, break this up and rub it on his feathers,”

Rayla did as he instructed, sitting down and plonking her dæmon onto her knee where she could get a good look at him from every angle. They needed two more pencils to cover him completely, which Cornix surprisingly objected to.

“What about your drawin’?” he asked, head cocked to one side and trying not to look troubled by the thought. Rayla’s blank expression confirmed their disquiet.

“A good artist is always prepared!” Cerys informed them, and she ran her beak through his tail feathers in a friendly gesture, trying to make up for her mean words earlier.

“Besides, a good Human Cornix disguise is more important right now,” Callum added with a reassuring smile.

Kalila shifted into a crow herself, and the pair of them sized each other up. He was indeed black all over, but it looked flat – the iridescent shimmer was absent. People _might_ get a bit suspicious if they looked just a bit too closely for too long, but they should be able to pass him off as a human dæmon provided they kept moving and didn’t draw attention to themselves.

Cerys fluttered anxiously and said, “It might rub off too easily.”

“I’ll just avoid touchin’ anythin’. Especially the snow,” Cornix said, resisting the urge to groom the particles from his plumage.

“It’ll have to do.” Rayla said as she got to her feet and dusted her hands down. “We need to get movin’.”

“Well,” Ezran gave them all that smile of his that could melt even the coldest of hearts. “Let’s go!” he trudged on ahead, Kalila bounding in his wake as a snowy hare.

The two bird dæmons took off and soared through the air together overhead, circling back around in formation before they could stray too far from their people. Rayla gave Callum a friendly nudge, and he turned to look at her. She was smiling – not play acting or being smarmy or sardonic; a real, genuine, grateful smile.

“Thanks. I’m sorry about your pencils.”

He gave her a small smile in response. “This is more important.” He told her.

Together, they set off after Ezran. Their dæmons flew back and landed on their respective shoulders, shuffling and rearranging themselves more comfortably. Cornix eyed Cerys closely, and tried to copy her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“You’re a human crow, not a human dove.”

“Right, right,” he muttered, shuffling around on Rayla’s shoulder. “I’m a _human_ dæmon. _Feel_ the human…” he told himself, turning it into a mantra.

“Just don’t chant that inside the town, please.” Callum begged.

Kalila zoomed towards them as a sky lark, swooping and soaring with exaltation. “The pencils will have been sacrificed for nothing!”

“Kalila! I’m pretty sure that counts as _not helping_!” Ezran called to her from up ahead.

Callum turned to Rayla. “Let’s just get this over with. We go in, find help, and get out as soon as possible.”

“Yessir!” Rayla sprang to attention with a flourish, and Cornix flapped his wings with a caw of confirmation.

“And let’s try to avoid _drawing attention_ to ourselves.” Callum said, looking pointedly at Rayla’s dæmon.

Rayla obligingly backed him up by jabbing Cornix in the chest. “ _Listen_ to the Prince. Low key, no showin’ off.”

“That goes _double_ for you, Rayla.” Callum said over folded arms, giving his best no nonsense look. But he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. Rayla seemed to him to be fluid and in constant motion by nature, as well as incredibly fun to be around. If things had been different, and not so politically serious, this journey they were on would have been a lot more enjoyable. On his shoulder, Cerys flapped her wings to stave off the cold again, and settled down far more contentedly against his neck, eyes half closed, increasingly less agitated about the plan going awry.

Rayla and Cornix straightened themselves up. Neither of them said it out loud, but they exchanged a look as their thoughts crossed each other. Callum looked and sounded every inch a Prince. Sympathetic but commanding; taking control and leading them, assuming authority over and responsibility for their group. He was a natural leader, and Rayla could see the kind of man he would become, the advisor he would be to Ezran. She watched him turn and walk away after Ez, his dæmon’s rose tinged back in full view until she shivered again from the cold, and Rayla’s heart quivered.

There really was hope for peace, if they could bring the Dragon Prince home. Whatever fragile truce could be cultivated from this gesture to the Dragon Queen, Rayla knew Callum would fight to protect and nurture it – and she believed in him and his abilities completely. She smiled, and nuzzled into Cornix’s feathers before she set off after the boys. Hope blossomed in her chest, easing the incessant, throbbing ache in her left hand.

They could do this, she really believed they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I said I wouldn’t write many play-by-play scenes straight from the show like this because its tedious and boring to do so. And then I had wayyy too much fun with this one, so I’ll see about striking a healthy and comfortable balance :D These last two chapters got cranked out relatively quickly because I had a backlog of drafts I had been picking at for a while. As a result, the next chapter might take a bit longer to post.


	5. Coming of Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Episode 2: Ezran thinks long and hard after speaking to Opeli about the possibility of appointing a regent. Talking it out with his dæmon and Bait, he comes to a very important decision.

Long after Opeli had left him, Ezran wandered the castle via the routes he usually took when he wanted to sneak around unseen.

He used to do it for mischief and fun, and for the jelly tarts. He was even quieter and sneakier now, because Rayla had been teaching him the art of stealth, and he was a fast learner. However, today he was trying to remain unseen by his subjects, while he tried to decide what was best for the kingdom, for his people.

Ezran fiercely wished he had Callum there, but he knew he needed to help Rayla take Zym home. Oh, he _really_ missed Zym, too. And Rayla. He had gotten so used to hers and Cornix’s sarcastic humour; the crow dæmon’s bark like laughter and Rayla’s wild, fierce grin. And that deep gentleness that ran through them both like a wellspring, always managing to bubble up and spill forth no matter how they tried to keep it buried. Cornix was right – they _sucked_ as assassins.

Kalila flickered through a broad range of forms as they traversed around the castle; constantly changing as her feelings shifted and modulated in response to both hers and Ezran’s thoughts. Fluttering birds, pacing cats, sturdy and solid banther, inconspicuous moth… and when it got too much Kalila became a mole, and burrowed into Ezran’s shirt before emerging as a weasel to flow seamlessly up the wooden beam they were climbing around.

When they got back to the King’s chambers… _his_ bedroom, Ezran sat down on the floor at the foot of the big, hollow bed, and sighed heavily, running his fingers through Kalila’s banther fur as he scratched Bait behind the ears.

“Dad and Epira are hard to live up to.” He said eventually.

Bait grumped in agreement.

Kalila looked down, and then placed her head on her enormous paws. Her ears flicked. “He was a warrior.” She murmured.

Ezran exhaled heavily, looking at his boots. Kalila sat up and turned into a sparrow, perching on his toes and looking up at him with bright eyes. “But I’m not a warrior.” Ezran said quietly, feeling the weight of _everything_ press down on his shoulders. Both of his parents were warriors, he was the son of a King. _He_ was King now. And not the kind of person his father was.

Kalila pecked at his boots, turning into a magpie and bobbing, tail bouncing comically. “Do you remember? What Epira said to us and Cerys?”

“About what?” Ezran asked, lifting Bait into his lap.

Kalila jumped off his boot, turning into a wolf with a dusty coloured coat, and snuggled into his side. “When Lord Viren was talking about Callum’s birth father. And about how Callum was different from all of his parents, because they all had dog-like dæmons, and Cerys settled as a bird. And Epira said to us, that we don’t have to _be_ like our parents. We can choose what kind of people we want to be. No two people whose dæmons are the same form are really the same, either.”

Ezran thought about that for a while in companionable silence. Epira had been a mastiff, with a beautiful brindled coat; heavy set and powerful, always battle ready – and the biggest softie in the Pentarchy. Ezran had heard stories about his mother and her dæmon – a dhole called Kaki. She had been kind and tenacious, apparently, but Ezran and Kalila couldn’t remember. According to Viren, Callum’s birth father had had a dog dæmon. Callum had never seemed upset about Cerys settling as a dove, though he had been rather self-conscious at times, especially during sword practise where a dove was considered less than useful for battle.

“What do you think Callum would do now? If he were here?”

Bait considered this before rumbling that he felt Callum would be giving Ezran a hug. That made him smile and give _Bait_ a hug, and Kalila snuggled into his neck as a starling, crooning softly.

“I think,” she said slowly. “That Callum would support you, whatever you decided to do.”

Ezran sighed, and looked down at his hands as he pulled Dad’s letter from his pocket, running his thumb over the broken seal again.

“I know its not my fault I’m so young, and that Dad’s gone now. And I know he didn’t want this for us… And that Callum’s right. Sometimes, you can’t expect or prepare for what’s going to happen.”

“We can learn from the mistakes of the past.” Kalila said emphatically, crawling into Ezran’s lap as a big, fluffy tabby cat. She looked up at her human with round, amber eyes. “Dad knew what he did was wrong, even if he realised it much later on. What was it Rayla said that night? That we could change things and make a _real_ difference in the world.”

Ezran rubbed her between the eyes, and she closed them with a contented purr. “I think so, as long as the Council doesn’t fight us on it. I _want_ to make a difference, Kalila.”

Bait harrumphed from his knee in approval, and nuzzled into his side.

Ezran smiled and scratched him under the chin. “Thanks, Bait.”

“What about Soren and Claudia?” Kalila asked quietly.

Ezran looked across the room pensively. “I believe that Claudia didn’t want to hurt us.” He said eventually. “I…still don’t understand what they were doing, but I think their Dad put them up to it. Whatever ‘it’ was. And I know that, I don’t want to be held responsible for my dad’s actions and decisions, either. But I also know, we all have to deal with the consequences of those decisions they’ve made.”

Kalila slid off his lap to snuggle into his other side. “I don’t trust Viren.” She told him simply, and Ezran felt her thoughts on the matter, the things Cerys had told them about that night.

“No, I don’t either. But that doesn’t mean Soren and Claudia are bad people.” Ezran sighed, and rubbed his dæmon behind her ears as she shifted into a chocolate Labrador. “Dad once said to Callum that a good leader leads by example. If I don’t want to be judged for my father’s mistakes, I can’t judge other people like that, either.”

“So what standard do you want to set for your people to follow?” Kalila asked.

Ezran smiled. It was the sort of question his tutors would present him with. Except it wasn’t a far-off hypothetical question anymore.

“Love and peace.” Ezran said emphatically. “I want to be the kind of King that shows mercy and forgiveness. Otherwise, we’ll _never_ stop going to war.”

This may have all started countless generations before them, but Ezran knew that the most recent catalyst had been his mother’s death. And then Rayla had been tasked with ending his own life over Zym’s apparent death. Ezran thought of the little dragon, and couldn’t imagine wanting to hurt him to get back at the Dragon Queen, or the elves. And he knew Zym would be really hurt if someone attacked him or his brother to get back at the humans. His heart fluttered in his chest as Kalila put her head in his lap, beside Bait, and shared her thoughts with him.

There was a very real chance that theirs was the generation that would end the cycle of violence. And Ezran could do a lot to help that cause from the throne. There were people around him he trusted, and while he understood what Opeli had meant, he knew that he wanted to play an active role in shaping the future of Katolis, the Pentarchy, and the world at large.

He was very young, and incredibly inexperienced, but he was so willing to learn and grow and do the very best he could for his people.

Slowly, Ezran stood up and walked out onto the balcony. He placed Bait on the stone railing, and Kalila sat down on her haunches at his side. The three of them watched the afternoon slip into dusk. Ezran thought long and hard about the words he needed to express himself. Once he was satisfied, he took a bit longer to steel himself for what he needed to do.

When he was ready, Bait rumbled a question to him about whether he was prepared for this, and Ezran just smiled at him, reaching to pat his dæmon’s head without looking. Despite the butterflies in his stomach, Ezran felt calm and stable. He looked Kalila in the eye, and she gazed back steadily, tail wagging ever so slightly.

This moment, here and now, on the balcony, was so quiet and exciting and scary and felt _so_ _right_. Everyone wondered about that moment, when your dæmon settled into their true form; when, where, how and why, were all big questions every kid asked about. Ezran used to wonder what Kalila would settle as, and sometimes he had wished that she would always be able to change form. There were so many different shapes, and each one had layers of meaning that were specific to each individual pair. Dad had always told him that when the time came, it would be the right moment for it, and the right form for life. It hadn’t mattered that Callum stuck out like a sore thumb within his own family, because he was happy that Cerys had settled as she had, and being happy and content with who you were was something you couldn’t place a value on.

Ezran knelt down and wrapped his arms around Kalila, and she clumsily hugged him back with her dog paws, which would never change shape again. She was a chocolate Labrador; lanky and gangly still with youth, with so much potential and growth ahead of her yet, and she was perfect just the way she was.

They both stood up, and went inside, Bait pacing behind them until Kalila paused to crouch down and let him jump onto her back.

XOXO

When the door to the throne room opened, the murmurs of the Council halted, and all eyes turned towards the young King as he entered the hall. He looked so small and nascent compared to King Harrow as he stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath before setting forth towards the dais.

King Ezran walked at a measured, stately pace, taking his time and not letting anyone rush him towards the throne, his dog dæmon by his side. He didn’t pause as he drew level with Soren and Claudia, but he did turn his head to look at them.

Soren’s gaze was cast downward as he leaned heavily on his crutch. His Alsatian dæmon was lying on the floor at his feet, as dejected and resigned as her human. Claudia held her hands up in a placating gesture to Ez, the boy she had watched grow up, like she was appealing to his fonder memories of times long since passed them. Her own dæmon paced forward a few steps, nose twitching in anticipation; Kalila usually shifted into a cat as well at this invitation, a big fluffy tabby instead of the sleek black form Salem took. Much had changed since those days of childhood – for one thing, Salem now had a lopsided white bib on the left side of his breast, reflecting the streaks in Claudia’s hair. For another, Kalila turned her head and acknowledged Salem, but made no move towards him.

Ezran’s expression was almost stern, and the apparent indifference he showed them stung. Salem flowed back to Claudia and wound himself around her legs as she watched the boy walk away, stunned and dismayed, and not really knowing how to respond to the situation.

Cia lifted her head off her paws, flicking an ear in Salem’s direction to check he was all right while Soren continued to stare at the floor before him. He was not quite able to reconcile with what he had been asked and had been prepared to do; his dæmon’s concern for Salem kept him more grounded than he otherwise would have been.

Ezran reached the dais, and as he stopped, his gaze shifted from Corvus (standing to attention beside the throne) to the crown resting on its velvet cushion. After a moment, Opeli approached him, her tone gentle while her pygmy owl dæmon slowly turned his head to scan the faces of the Council and the Neolandian delegation while she spoke.

“Have you given thought to what we discussed?”

Ezran closed his eyes, and resisted the urge to reach for Kalila. “I have. And I have something to say.” The King took a deep breath, before turning around and addressing the room.

All eyes were on him, the youngest person in the room by a good number of years. No one really knew what to expect – Prince Ezran had a reputation for mischief, and had ascended to the throne long before he should have. While all the people remained courteous and calm in their demeanours towards the King, a few dæmons betrayed the underlying feeling of disquiet within the Court. They were living in strange and uncertain times, and did not know how the boy would respond with his newly acquired authority.

“All of you knew King Harrow as a great King. He was a leader, a warrior, and a champion.” Ezran looked around the room as he spoke. Then he glanced at the floor for a moment, collecting himself before lifting his gaze again. “But I knew him as my Dad, who loved me and my brother, and our Mom. And sometimes told really bad jokes,” he added with a smile. Kalila shifted by his side, and he reached a hand out to ruffle the fur around her ears affectionately.

His words made a number of people smile with fond memories of King Harrow’s quirks, including Soren and Claudia. A reminder of a comfortable past, and the bonds that solidified their ties to each other and to their kingdom. And while all the things Ezran said about him as a King were true, his assessment of Harrow as a man was almost heart-breaking with its sincerity.

“I didn’t see everything he had to do as King, but I _do_ know that my Dad had to make very hard decisions.” Ezran met their gazes levelly. He had decided how best to approach this speech; to be calm and choose his words with care like his father, and to speak from the heart like his brother. He glanced away for a brief moment, before admitting honestly, “I’m just a kid. I haven’t fought in any battles. I haven’t read many books of wisdom.”

Off to the side, Kasef tilted his head with a slight and rather satisfied sneer. His dæmon, a darkly coloured jackal, got up from where she had been lying on the floor and leaned forward, ears pricked and subtly trying to assert dominance over the child’s dæmon from a distance. Kalila kept her gaze towards the front of the hall, ignoring them both as Ezran continued to speak.

The High Council were attentive to their King, wishing to both support their monarch and to support the boy who was still grieving for his dead father and fractured family. Opeli’s dæmon again scanned the sea of faces around them, watchful and observant.

“I haven’t gone through the things that made my father the King he was.” Ezran closed his eyes. This was the moment. Kalila got off her haunches and stood as tall and proud as she could despite her youthful stature.

It was at that moment that people started to realise that she had not shifted once since she had entered the room. One of the Council members lifted a hand to his mouth in slight shock as he recognised what that meant. The settling of one’s dæmon was usually a cause for celebration; it happening now as Ezran spoke so eloquently and passionately to his Court seemed to add even more weight to his words.

“So I’ve decided… That I don’t have to be the King my father was.”

Ezran and Kalila didn’t see it because they were facing away, but Bait did, and he later told them both that at his words, the smile on Corvus’ face had deepened and filled with pride, and his jay dæmon bobbed on his shoulder despite protocol, fanning her wings and tail in an expression of joy.

The longer he spoke, with all these people listening, the more Ezran’s confidence grew, and he let the passion he felt so strongly inside spill out into his tone and body language. Beside him, Kalila shifted her weight from foot to foot, lifting her head and staring down anyone who looked at her human with any measure of scorn or disbelief. Her gaze came to rest on Kasef and his dæmon. “My father made choices to keep fighting battles that started hundreds of years before he was born. To punish enemies for crimes their _parents_ committed. I don’t want to be that kind of King.” He said emphatically. For a moment, his gaze softened, and Kalila turned her head away from the jackal dæmon to look at Soren and Claudia. “Set them free.”

A wave of gasps and furtive whispers ran through the room, and the guard nearest to the throne stared at her King in open mouthed disbelief, her fox dæmon laying his ears flat for a moment in distress and confusion. Soren and Claudia both looked quizzically at him, while their dæmons shot up to their feet, betraying the underlying shock they were feeling at this turn of events.

“Soren and Claudia will not pay for the mistakes their father made.” Ezran explained calmly and firmly.

The oldest member of the Council turned away from the two prisoners and said to the King, “But Your Highness, they are criminals,” his dog dæmon whined plaintively at his side, very much agitated by the situation.

Ezran steeled himself and repeated his command, mustering an authoritative tone like his father’s. “Take their chains _off_!”

After only a brief moment of hesitation, one of the guards stepped forward and began to unlock the shackles on Soren and Claudia’s wrists. Their dæmons milled around their feet, walking up to each other and bumping noses, shocked and relieved they were free. Cia lifted a foot and wrapped her leg around Salem in a clumsy embrace, and he licked her neck in return.

Ezran turned to address Kasef directly, who was looking pointedly at the erstwhile prisoners instead of the King, though his dæmon was facing Kalila head on. The Labrador didn’t waver as she stared the jackal dæmon down.

“Katolis will _not_ go to war.” Ezran stated emphatically.

Despite the way their dæmons were interacting, Kasef looked genuinely surprised to hear this.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your father, and what happened to mine, but we don’t have to avenge them. We don’t have to strike back. We can choose _peace_.” Ezran held his hands out in an open gesture, and Kalila carefully sat down on her haunches.

Another wave of gasps and murmurs ran through the throne room at this. Prince Kasef stepped forward and fixed King Ezran with a barely concealed scowl of stiff formality. Their dæmons raised their hackles at each other in response, but it became apparent that the dog dæmon would not be made to kowtow so easily. Kasef bowed his head in acknowledgement before quickly making to leave, his dæmon trying to cover up her aggressive stance and not quite managing. Ezran let them go, watching with a deep and complicated expression the was partly sad, partly resigned, but very much determined.

The guards closed the doors after Prince Kasef, but before they could swing shut, he turned to look back, scowling deeply, and for a brief moment his dæmon drew back her lips in a snarl that displayed all of her teeth, but then the doors shut and they were out of sight. Opeli turned to face her King, but her dæmon kept his eyes fixed on the door for a long moment before he too turned slowly around again to look at Kalila, who lifted her head up high under his piercing gaze.

“King Ezran, I admire your courage, but peace will require just as much strength as war.” She told him, steady and calm; wanting to support him without sugar coating the trials ahead should he commit to this path. “Are you prepared to defend it?”

“Yes.” Ezran said simply.

He went to the throne, to the box where the crown of the kingdom was sat waiting for him, and lifted it from the cushion, pausing for just a moment to heft the warm metal in his hands. Many generations of his family had worn this crown, had led Katolis through tumultuous seasons.

And now, it was his turn.

King Ezran placed the crown on his brow, and turned to face his subjects. He had no idea of it, but everyone in the room was thinking to themselves that he looked so much like his father in that moment. Despite the many ways they differed, no one could deny that he burned with the same ardour to protect and serve his people.

“I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so freakin’ proud of Ezran in that episode for being so brave and so eloquent and direct – despite his youth and the political pressure he was under – and for being the biggest grown up in the room. That decision felt like the moment he fully stepped out of childhood and was ready to grow up.


	6. Elf Callum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Episode 3: To be fair, Human Rayla started this. And Elf Callum is determined to finish it. Cerys wishes she had settled as something that can burrow its way underground so she doesn’t have to deal with this nonsense.

The further they walked, the more frequently they saw archangel lunarises floating through the canopy. Cerys fluttered after them with interest, learning to differentiate their unique glow of magic from the other sources that pulsed around them. Everything was so bright and vivid here to a mage’s senses; so much to see, so much to learn…she and Callum could barely stay still for more than a few minutes.

Right now they were following a pathway through a middling section of the woodland canopy, along a broad and twisty trunk growing horizontally out of a small cliff face they were rapidly approaching, promising firm land and no dizzying heights. Cornix was as relieved as Rayla to be nearly home again, and he tumbled and soared through the air around them in wide, sweeping arcs, unable to hide his pure joy to be in Moonshadow territory. The crow dæmon joined Cerys by an interesting looking fuzzy purple fern, and they both spun upwards in a spiral with Zym before gently levelling out and flapping overhead with the little dragonling.

Meanwhile, Rayla was getting keyed up with elation and nerves, while Callum wandered in her wake, playing with the adoraburrs that had remained stuck to his clothing despite his best efforts when they had left the meadow.

“I can’t believe we’re almost home,” Rayla said out loud, holding an arm out to her dæmon. Cornix dropped out of the air on his next pass over their heads and landed, giving a delighted caw. She lifted him to her shoulder, and he obligingly shuffled onto the perch, where he started grooming his tail feathers. “Somehow I’m _happy_ and _excited_ ,” she listed off the emotions as the words trickled to the surface of her thoughts, and then she baulked a little, realising how un-Moonshadow it was to be so open like this. “But also _terrified_.” She admitted, avoiding looking at Cerys as she flapped past on her way to Callum’s shoulder. Rayla supposed that it didn’t matter all that much – Callum wasn’t going to judge her the way the other elves would have done.

Cerys landed and helped Callum to pluck the last, stubborn adoraburr out of his hair. “You’re just nervous,” he said warmly to Rayla, smiling as his dæmon bobbed on his shoulder, prodding the squeaking bundle of fuzz with her beak. “Once they see you, and _widdle baby Zym_ ,” he crooned comfortably, steadying his hand and preparing his next move “I’m sure they’ll help us.” He placed the green blob onto the pile he had been slowly creating, and straightened up with a crow of triumph. “There! Five in a row,” he grinned when Cerys fanned her wings and cooed loudly. “These fellas are _so_ stackable!” she bounced onto his outstretched arm and groomed the soft, downy coat of the green adoraburr, who squeaked back amicably.

They had reached terra firma again now, and Rayla spun around on the solid ground to give him that smile he loved, full of indulgent acceptance of his silliness. He hoped that the way Cerys fluttered her wings wasn’t especially obvious of the way Rayla’s expression made his heart skip a beat.

“When the other elves see me and Zym is one thing,” she told him, her tone light and teasing. Cornix hunched his shoulders, preparing to take off. “But m’new _human_ friend… _might_ not be so popular.” She put her bent wrists on her hips, eyebrow delicately arched, and Cornix flew at Cerys.

He playfully made a lunge at her, and Cerys flapped off Callum’s arm as the adoraburrs all turned at Rayla’s words to give said human closer scrutiny. The two dæmons swooped around the group in a broad arc, chirruping to each other, caught up in the mischievous mood. The adoraburrs decided to scatter, jumping and tumbling from Callum’s hand, but that only dampened his spirits for a brief moment. He had been developing a cunning plan for a few days now. He threw the thought to Cerys, who cringed and cooed in protest, finding an over hanging branch on which to sit, far enough away from the ridiculousness her person was about to inflict on them all.

“But you know who is going to be popular?” Callum asked. He swung his bag down onto the ground behind him, and started rummaging for the things he had been collecting.

Cornix swung round again and landed beside Cerys, squawking questioningly and pecking her wing when she didn’t respond to him. She sidled along the branch a bit more and turned her back on Callum, shoulders hunched.

“Your charming new elf friend,” he continued, and Cornix bounced on the branch with alarm as Rayla’s face first fell, and then filled with trepidation.

“Oh _no_.” She cast around as if to find help somewhere in the middle of the woods, before simply raising her hands to defend herself from what was about to happen. “Please, _no_ ,”

Cornix cocked his head to one side, and they looked each other in the eye. He was as aghast at the idea as she was – he also thought she had brought this down upon their heads. She was getting no sympathy from her dæmon.

Putting the finishing touches on his brilliant disguise, Callum straightened his makeshift horns and spun around dramatically on the spot. “Get ready to meet…Elf Callum!” he proclaimed with pride, spreading his arms wide and theatrically. He had gathered up handfuls of leaves to stuff into his jacket, and two perfect if not quite symmetrical sticks that looked antlery enough from a distance.

Zym yipped happily, tail wagging at this new game. Rayla looked like the experience was already traumatic for her. Cornix turned to look at Cerys, and poked her again when she didn’t react.

“Y’know,” Callum went on, trying to defend his position. “I’m one of those forest elves, with the-” one of the sticks he had bound to his head slipped and fell at an angle across his face, and he hurried to reposition it. “With the antlers.”

“Ohh,” Rayla couldn’t resist teasing him, though she was still very wary of what the idiot was up to. “You’re supposed to be an – _Earthblood_ elf?” she asked, completely unconvinced.

He’d never get away with that disguise in a month of Sundays. This was a terrible idea.

“Wait, wait, wait. Wait wait.” Callum insisted. “The illusion’s not complete.”

Cornix cawed loudly. “Don’t tell me this dummy learnt Moon magic while we weren’t lookin’?!”

Cerys shuddered but said nothing, wishing the ground could swallow her whole. Or that she had settled as a mole, or some other burrowing, tunnelling creature…

Callum gave the crow dæmon a deep and flamboyant bow, before taking a deep and pompous sounding breath. Rayla had just enough time to exchange a nervous glance with Zym before Callum went off.

“Oy, mate!” he said loudly, in a thick and terrible accent that didn’t match any that Rayla knew of. “I’m an Earthblood elf!” he pranced towards the nearest tree and grabbed it in a great big hug. “All me best mates are _trees_!”

Zym grinned, and Rayla clapped a hand against her face. Oh Stars above…this was so painful. Hearing the constant stream of taunts from her dæmon’s mind wasn’t helping, either. Slowly, she drew her hand down across her face, while Callum continued to prance around like the moron he was, being an oaf and paying her back for all the stupid stunts Human Rayla had put him through.

Cornix poked Cerys again. “Get your human under control.”

Cerys shrieked and boxed him with her wings, tweaking his beak painfully with her own. “You think I haven’t spent the whole day trying to talk him out of this madness?!” she hissed at him, fed up with the whole exercise.

“‘Mate’ is Earthblood for ‘friend’!” Callum told Rayla, ignoring his dæmon’s exasperation and pressing his fingers towards his big stupid grin. The git was thoroughly enjoying their misery. “High four?” he asked, holding a hand out to her, crossing two of his fingers over to give the very poor illusion that he had just the four digits.

Rayla glowered at him, disgruntled and thoroughly unimpressed. Cornix cocked his head to one side, thinking and sharing it with Rayla that she was doing a pretty good impression of Runaan right now. Maybe this was how he had felt all those times they had larked around together growing up.

Humouring him only because her heart quivered with affection for this idiot, and because she owed him for Human Rayla, she flicked out her left hand to slap his own, and when he tried to wheedle another one from her, saying, “Down low?” in his Moonforsaken accent, she decided enough was enough.

Holding a hand up to detain his antics and keep him at arm’s length, Rayla stalked off towards the path. “No we’re done.” She said in a bored tone, hoping to nip this idea in the bud – if not sooner.

Callum looked severely put out, but Zym spun round on the log he had been perched on and slapped his tail against the ‘elf’s’ proffered hand with a happy yip. He closed his big blue eyes and gave Callum a great big smile, which the human returned fondly.

“Knew I could count on you,” he cooed happily, giving the little dragon a two-handed scratch behind the ears.

“What are we even supposed to do with Cerys?” Rayla sighed, speaking in a monotone as Callum fell into step beside her. “Xadian dæmons tend to be more…” she spun her hand around in a small circle, trying to find a diplomatic word. Cerys glowered menacingly from her branch, only moving when Callum’s steps began to pull at their bond. She fluttered through the air above their heads, staying as far away from his awful get up as she could. “Ehh?” Rayla gestured helplessly at her own dæmon, all delicate swirl patterns and shiny colours.

“I’ve thought of that.” Callum said brightly. “I just can’t convince her to get close enough to try it.”

“Ooooh let me help!” Cornix launched himself at her, and Cerys shrieked in alarm.

The pair of them flapped through the air, tumbling in an inelegant arc to the ground where he pinned her in place. For a brief moment, they all paused, remembering that first night they had met, and how Cornix had wrestled the dove dæmon to the floor. His intent had been murderous then. Now, it was for the sake of hilarity. Rayla wondered if the dæmon would break taboo and kill the pair of them; the _look_ she was giving Rayla was enough to make her give pause. Cerys beat her wings uselessly, with one leg being stood on, wings blocking her own from taking flight, and a mouthful of her neck in Cornix’s beak.

“Okay, guys,” Callum said quickly, running to protect his dæmon as her anxiety mounted rapidly. “I think that’s enough.” He shooed Cornix away and lifted Cerys up to cradle against his chest. She snuggled in briefly before giving his nose a hard tweak. “Okay, okay.” Callum rubbed his smarting nose. “I deserved that.”

“Idiot,” Cerys hissed at him. “It’ll never work! You need a _real_ illusion spell. This is madness!”

“Glad I’m not the only one who thinks that,” Rayla muttered under her breath as Cornix flapped over and perched on her horns, snickering quietly to himself.

“Let’s just try.” Callum said, cupping her in his hands and lifting her up so they were looking each other in the eye. “Please? If it doesn’t work or feels uncomfortable, we’ll wash it off right away, I promise.”

Cerys closed her eyes and sighed in defeat. “ _Fine_ …”

Callum took the last ingredient for his disguise from his satchel – one of the purple fruits Zym liked eating, and carefully crushed it between both hands while Cerys sat on his shoulder. Once his hands were covered in the fine, powdery residue, he carefully applied it to her feathers. Rayla had come over for a closer look, holding Zym in her arms after he had jumped up there, and she got as far as lifting a hand up and reaching towards Cerys before she stopped herself.

No, no no _no_.

She had broken the taboo once already. And that had only been for a matter of life and death. She had no reason or right to be reaching for another person’s dæmon. Luckily, Callum and Cerys were too busy to notice Rayla’s strange behaviour. Cornix fluttered and flustered uncharacteristically, but that also went unobserved.

“There!” Callum said, letting Cerys hop onto his wrist and holding her out for them all to see. “What d’ya think?”

Rayla raised an eyebrow again as she beheld the disgruntled dove. True, her feathers shimmered now, but the shade of purple didn’t compliment her natural colouration at all. “It’s…nice?” Rayla said haltingly.

Cornix rearranged his wings. “She looks like a blueberry.”

Callum gave him a flat look, and Rayla scowled before tossing her head and slapping him as he took off clumsily. She swore at him in their own tongue, knowing they wouldn’t understand her, and she took in the sight of Cerys again.

“It’s not really your colour.” She said eventually, trying to let Callum down gently and to not make fun of Cerys.

“Yeah. I didn’t know what else would work,” he tickled his dæmon’s chin, and she closed her eyes wearily, leaning into his touch.

Rayla tilted her head and thought about all the plants they had passed recently. “There might be _somethin_ ’…” A something caught her eye in the very corner of her vision, and she waved at Callum to stay put as she went to root around in the underbrush. “There!” she dived into the grass at the base of a tree, and came back to them with a glowing green mushroom and a big smile.

“What’s that?” Callum asked, wide eyed and curious, already reaching for the cube thing out of reflex.

“It’s a mushroom.” Rayla handed it to him with a sardonic smile.

Callum blinked and gave her an unimpressed look. “I can see that.”

“Look,” she said, taking one of her swords out and slicing the cap open. A thick, resinous substance oozed from the spongy flesh, deep red in colour. “It’ll dry clean. Try it,”

Cerys fluttered her wings nervously. “Are you sure?”

Rayla gave the dove a softer smile. “Red’s more your colour. The sparkles should still be visible underneath,”

Callum shrugged and looked to Cerys for permission to proceed, and she bowed her head in acquiescence. Gently, Callum took handfuls of the red mushroom ooze and rubbed it over the purple stains on her feathers. While he worked, Cornix flitted back to them, landing on a nearby log at a polite distance. Rayla gave him a hard look before turning back to Cerys.

“What do you think?” Callum asked, holding his dæmon out and turning her this way and that, his artist’s eye running critically over his work.

“Much better,” Rayla said with a bright, uncomplicated smile.

Cerys was rose coloured like the dawn all over, with a pretty, sparkly finish that shone when the light hit her feathers _just_ right. She may not have had intricate, symmetrical markings, but she looked a lot more like an elf’s dæmon. They might actually be able to pull this off.

Cornix was stunned. He watched helplessly as Cerys fanned her wings and tail, resisting the urge to groom the remaining particles of dust from her feathers. She looked so beautiful to him, it made his heart race, and he didn’t trust himself to speak. It was starting to effect Rayla’s own thought processes, and when Callum turned to look her full in the face, she froze.

Those big, dark green doe eyes blinked at her, wide and questioning. Cerys fluttered down to the log beside Cornix, and he jittered like a fledgling.

“Well?” she asked, spreading her gorgeous wings to show him her new colour. “What does the elf dæmon think? Do I pass as Xadian?”

Cornix blinked slowly, trying to recover his senses. “Yes.” He eventually croaked quietly.

Callum smiled at Rayla, all warm and soft. “Thanks. I think that’ll do it,”

Rayla blinked as slowly as her dæmon, and cleared her throat loudly as she handed Zym into Callum’s arms and turned away to hide her blush. “We should get goin’. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get help.”

“Right.” Callum hefted Zym in his arms and turned to the two dæmons. “Let’s get going.”

Cerys fluttered up to sit on Callum’s shoulder, and pecked at her tail feathers experimentally. “It’s a lot nicer than the charcoal.” She said teasingly.

“Are you jealous you weren’t born this side of the border?” Rayla shot back with a sly smile, recollecting herself faster than Cornix.

Cerys fluffed herself up primly, and held her head high. She looked every inch a Prince’s dæmon, and it made Rayla’s heart quiver happily. “Just a bit.” Cerys admitted light heartedly.

Cornix took off clumsily, his focus on Cerys, and he clipped her with his wing as he flew by. Callum raised an eyebrow in confusion and interest, seeing how close the dæmon crow had got to him, and Rayla held up her fist for Cornix to land on, signalling him to return immediately. He landed, and she pressed a hand against his back, giving him a meaningful look as Callum was distracted by Zym wanting cuddles.

Silently, through their link, Rayla begged Cornix not to do anything overt. This was not the time or place for confessing to feelings that probably wouldn’t be reciprocated anyway. There were more important things to worry about than her silly, adolescent crush on her dumb human friend. Cornix flapped up to her horn and pretended to be on the lookout; he was really trying not to look at Cerys again, because he was too moonstruck by her new appearance.

“How much further is it?” Callum asked, trying to hang on to Zym, who had just seen a starry squirrel and desperately wanted a closer look.

Rayla chuckled and gently plucked the dragon from his arms, letting him go chase the animal up a nearby tree. “Not much further, now. C’mon, we should get goin’.”

“Zym, come on!” Callum called, and Zym came scampering back, tail spinning with excitement. Callum beamed and reached down to scoop him up. “Ohhh, you are just _too cute_!” he fussed over the little dragon lovingly, and Cerys joined in, booping him on the nose and accepting his zappy kisses with forbearance.

Rayla indulged them for a few moments longer before she rolled her weight onto her back leg, swaying her hips as she went with a roll of her eyes. She then grabbed his scarf and started tugging him back onto the path. “C’mon, you. We can make googly eyes at the Dragon Prince later when we have a roof over our head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, when I watched Season 3 for the first time and saw the looks on their faces as Callum pulled out his disguise I howled with laughter and thought ‘You brought this on yourself Rayla now SUFFER’ – and Elf Callum did not disappoint. I want to see more Elf Callum in Season 4 so badly <3


	7. The Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Episode 5: After realising that Zym has been dragon-napped, Callum and Rayla have to rescue their mounts before they get stranded in the middle of the desert. When a quiet moment finally comes along, Callum reflects with Cerys on the mess he’s managed to make.

Callum’s heart was in his mouth. He was painfully aware of the way Cerys was fluttering and flapping above him, scanning the oasis and trembling so much she could barely keep the link between their minds coherent. There were too many emotions to sift through, a part of his mind was going numb to try and cope with the situation.

And of course, Rayla was on top of everything, running headfirst into the crisis, while he and Cerys flailed about uselessly. He forced himself to move, running after her as Cornix made a low swoop across the space where the ambler had been sleeping. He landed and stuck his beak into the sand, and then gave a great snarl of frustration before taking off and zooming back to Rayla.

“Cold!” he barked angrily. “They’re long gone,”

Rayla spun around, scanning the area immediately around them, hunting for more clues. Callum tried to help by running to check on their mounts-

Only to find the ropes severed. They were so screwed. And so was Zym if they couldn’t catch up to him in time-

“We have to stop her before they get too far into the desert,” Rayla said, turning towards Callum, and her face fell even further when he gestured helplessly at the useless pile of rope.

“Our mounts are gone! Nyx must’ve untied them,”

“Oh no, oh no,” Cerys was fluttering so violently Callum was afraid she was going to go into shock. “ _Oh no_ , what are we going to do?!”

Callum wrapped his arms over his head and bent over for a moment, gripping hard so that the pain would ground him and focus his attention. “Cerys,” he begged weakly. “Don’t do this. Not _now_. We need to _focus_ ,”

He jumped right out of his skin when Cornix flew by her and cut her off so that she had to land heavily in the sand. Cerys quivered, a pale dot on the dark, shifting substrate, and the crow dæmon landed beside her. He fixed Cerys in place with his steely, unwavering gaze before leaning forward and very gently grooming the darker feathers that made up the collar on the back of her neck. Callum felt the steady trickle of calming, silent words enter his own mind. Cornix wasn’t judging her for her fear, or Callum for his _utter_ stupidity – just asking her to be calm and to concentrate. There was a problem, a very serious one, and they could freak out after they found Zym. Whatever else happened between them, Zym’s safety was the most important thing to consider.

Callum was first aware of the high-pitched whining through Cornix and Cerys, then the sound hit his own consciousness. Both he and Rayla turned and ran towards the source, their dæmons flying overhead and coming up short at the barrier surrounding the oasis.

Their mounts were a fair distance away, but still within range. The Moonstrider was constantly rearing up, and they were both vocalising their distress. Callum glanced towards Rayla when she lifted her hand to her mouth, and made a distinctive whistle. Cornix landed on her horn and hunched his shoulders, tense and watchful. Cerys couldn’t sit still so Callum grabbed her out of the air and pulled her to his heart, stroking her feathers to try and reassure them both.

The Shadowpaw came when called, but the Moonstrider continued to buck her hind legs and shake her head. Callum was hoping against hope that the dim, shifting lights in the night beneath the sands were just his imagination. He had read about soulfang serpents, and what Nyx had said earlier in the day had lined up with what he knew about them – and the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Soulfang serpents were dangerous, calculating predators, and highly opportunistic. They gained sustenance from the lifeforce of other creatures, and their preferred food was dæmons, when they could get it. If not, a bite of the elf or human, or whatever animal they had managed to secure, was enough to satiate their hunger. Callum swallowed, throat feeling like sandpaper, and held Cerys closer to him. She squeaked and flapped up to his shoulder where she fluffed and fanned her wings and tail, hopping with agitation.

Once Rayla was satisfied the mount wasn’t injured, she turned and blared the command again, but the Moonstrider paid her no heed.

“Why won’t she _come_?” she snarled, breaking into a run. Cornix took off and flew relatively high up.

Callum ran after them, but had to come to an abrupt halt when he felt the very limit of his connection with Cerys hit him hard in his heart. She was fluttering anxiously on the other side of the barrier, as sick to her core as he was.

“Callum…” she whimpered, out of her mind with fear.

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to lose him. She didn’t want her dear Callum to become a lifeless husk that wandered this Light forsaken place for the rest of his days. She didn’t want to leave him to that fate and she didn’t want to abandon Rayla and Cornix now.

“I know,” he said shakily, holding a handout to her. “I know…” there was nothing else he _could_ say. “I love you, too.” He breathed, wanting her to hear those words and painfully aware of how close Rayla was, hoping he didn’t cause her anymore pain by uttering those words out loud.

Cerys whined, and with a burst of courage she forced herself to fly out of the barrier, away from safety into the harsh darkness outside. He wrapped his arms around her comfortingly and turned to run after Rayla. He was pulled up short when she skidded to a stop on the sand and flung an arm out to stop him. He stopped far less gracefully and nearly fell over, kicking up a fine spray of substrate, and was grateful for the arm that grabbed at him before he could trip up. Callum wanted to thank her, but the eery green lights that flickered beneath the sands silenced him.

The lights dimmed, and then two snakes burst forth, advancing on the Moonstrider. They were long, thick and muscular, with dark hoods and a red blaze on the backs of their heads and very visible, very wicked looking fangs extended in readiness to attack. They hissed with their throats, and a sound seemed to emanate from their tails, which Callum recognised as vaguely resembling a rattle snake’s. They were every bit as powerful and dreadful as he had imagined them to be. Cerys shrieked and tried to take flight, but she had tangled her claws deeply in his scarf, unwilling to let him go despite her fear.

Callum fumbled to release her grip before she could hurt herself, and Cornix launched himself at her so she toppled from her human’s shoulder with another shriek. He then harried her until she gained more height, and the pair of them stayed there; close enough to their people but far enough away from the ground that they weren’t targets. When Callum spun round again, he saw the look of concern and fear on Rayla’s face, but she mastered it quickly.

“You need to keep very, very still,” she told him quietly, turning her head enough to keep both him and the snakes in her field of vision as she whipped out one of her swords.

Callum gulped and stared at the blade. It was still something of a surprise that she hadn’t threatened him with it this evening. He wasn’t sure he would have blamed her if she had.

Cerys made a sound of distress from above his head, and he forced himself to focus.

“Uhh…Yup, that’s my plan. Still as a mouse.” He tried to cover his anxiety by giving Rayla a thumbs up as she prepared to run towards the deadly soul eating snakes. “Wait… Are mice still? Or- just, quiet as a mouse?”

Cornix cawed loudly with exasperation as he broke away from Cerys to follow his elf. Rayla briefly touched her forehead to summon what remained of her patience before she rounded on him. “Just. Do…both!” she hissed before she sprinted head long into danger.

Callum watched helplessly, feeling the weight of his inadequacies and weaknesses as Rayla closed the distance between herself and the soulfangs. One turned on her and lunged, but she easily sprang out of the way, and when it gave chase she spun expertly on her front leg and flung one of her swords at it, rending its neck clean in two. Cornix cawed loudly from above, hovering over her head and still well out of reach of the sands – but that wouldn’t protect them if Rayla got bitten.

Callum’s heart leapt into his mouth again at the ease with which she dispatched the snake. He remembered how it felt to have that blade trained on his throat. How she had hesitated, even when he told her he was the one she had been looking for. It could have been so _easy_ for her to end his life that night. But she hadn’t.

Cornix paused in his trajectory, flapping in alarm with a shriek as Rayla pulled herself up short with a gasp. Callum couldn’t see from where he was standing, so he started forward in her wake, but he could hear the Moonstrider whimper in pain.

“No!” Rayla cried helplessly, watching the colour drain from the mount in a single, awful wave of energy that reminded Callum of Dark magic. The thing that had been the Moonstrider, devoid of anything like a mind, spun and pelted off into the desert, the snake still hanging from its back.

It was a terrible thing to behold – the numbness threatened to envelope Callum completely, to protect him from the fear that ate away at him inside.

Rayla was already turning, mind settling on the next thing, spinning towards action while he remained paralysed with fear and indecision. “We’ve got to get back inside before-!”

A soulfang erupted from the sand about five feet away from Callum, and his heart nearly gave out. He flailed, and fell over, landing heavily on the sand, which slipped and slid underneath him as he tried desperately to put distance between him and the snake. Its eyes glowed, as brightly as the patch of scales under its chin; he could see every facet of every crest and scale in excruciating detail under its lurid light, right between his boots. It swayed back and forth, its powerful body rippling across the sand almost lazily as it sized him up with an awful hiss. All Callum could think was that he was going to die, and that Cerys was losing her mind somewhere in the sky above him, and he’d never hold her again.

The snake paused, gathering itself, and then leapt. Callum yelled, bringing an arm up in a vain attempt to protect himself.

But the strike never landed.

Cornix plummeted out of the sky and landed solidly on his arm, wings brushing Callum’s cheek and hair, claws digging into his skin through the sleeves of his jacket. He grabbed the snake right behind the skull and pulled as hard as he could upwards. The snake hissed and spat angrily, and tried to grapple with the dæmon, who hung on grimly. Rayla managed to close the distance between them, throwing herself onto the ground to bridge the gap in time. She grabbed the soulfang’s tail and yanked hard, ripping it from Cornix’s grip and away from Callum, tossing it aside and spinning nimbly on the shifting substrate to avoid its fangs as it righted itself. Cornix shrieked at the snake, flapping his wings wide and taking off, his feathers again brushing against Callum’s face as he went. The brief, unintended contact sent a strange shock through his body, not unlike a fulminis spell.

“ _Run_ , Callum!” Rayla shouted.

There wasn’t any time to process the feeling.

Scrambling, he heaved himself to his feet and ran like he’d never run before, only stopping once he was completely over the boundary of the oasis. There he turned around and held his arms out to greet his dæmon as she shot through the wall after him and buried herself in his arms. He looked up over her frantically beating wings, silently begging Rayla to run faster. He couldn’t stop seeing the Moonstrider, over and over and _over_ ; stripped of life, its proud and head strong temperament. The thought of that happening to someone as fierce and vibrant as Rayla-

He couldn’t finish the thought.

Cornix darted downwards and harried the snake’s tail; it twisted with a hiss, training its focus on him instead. Rayla skidded to a halt, sliding on the sand beneath her, and pelted back to protect her dæmon. Cornix, as reckless and brave as his elf, shrieked and cawed, flapping his wings and kicking up the sand in successive waves to confuse and disorientate the soulfang. It worked, for a short while, before the snake figured out the pattern of movement, and tried to strike just as Rayla drew level with them.

Callum felt physically sick as he watched Cornix come within a hair’s breadth of those fangs, that soul destroying bite-

Rayla pulled out her remaining sword and slammed the unfolded hilt down on the snake’s tail as hard as she could. The creature made a horrific noise somewhere between a hiss and a scream, head thrown back and flailing helplessly as Cornix grabbed it around the throat, just behind the jaws so that it was completely powerless to bite. Rayla gripped the tail again and threw it aside so it flew across the sand, righting itself all too quickly and lunging for the dæmon again. Rayla shouted to Cornix, and he took off heavily, shedding a couple of feathers as he went and staying high above and out of range.

No sooner had she started to run, the snake was on her heels again, heedless of Cornix plummeting down to worry at its tail – seemingly more concerned with catching the elf than her dæmon at this point. Rayla glanced over her shoulder as she streaked towards the barrier, and when she turned back Callum saw the fear in her face for Cornix’s safety, but the snake had switched targets and was intent on her instead.

Callum felt like he was watching in slow motion as her frame bunched and took off with a leap – one last, frantic attempt to outrun the soulfang as it sprang, twisting to avoid Cornix’s beak. She fell through the barrier, landing in a heap, completely on the safe side, before the snake could land on its prey. She threw an arm up to protect her face from the strike that never came.

The wall seemed to vaporise the snake as it tried to follow her; a part of Callum’s mind wondered at the magic behind the powerful enchantment that kept the oasis safe. The snake split into a thousand, thousand pieces and scattered in a fine spray of light. Rayla looked up, wide eyed, chest heaving with exertion, as if she didn’t quite believe she had made it.

Callum then noticed Cornix lying in a heap on the sand where he had landed and skidded, looking rather dazedly up at the night sky. Cerys fluttered a few times in Callum’s arms before she swooped down to bob around the crow with a few coos of concern. He slowly rolled onto his feet and shook himself down, covered in sand and still quivering with adrenaline. Cerys hopped closer and started grooming some of the particles from his feathers, and he slowly lowered his head in silent thanks.

As Rayla started to stand up, Callum reached to help her. He didn’t know what to say – all the things he wanted to say were fighting each other in his throat. Instead, he squeezed her hand and looped his other arm underneath hers, trying to convey wordlessly his relief for her safety. Rayla looked back out over the empty dunes before turning to face Callum. Her expression was sad but resolute.

“It’s too dangerous. We have to wait until sunrise.”

She looked again out across the desert, at the place where the Moonstrider had been bitten, and Callum followed her gaze. Their shared thoughts of what had almost happened sent the two dæmons scurrying for their people; Cornix landed clumsily on Rayla’s horn and wiped his beak in her hair, shaking uncharacteristically as she reached up to stroke his feathers. Cerys hid in Callum’s arms again, and he hugged her tight. That had been…way, _way_ too close.

“C’mon,” she said, pulling away and taking the halter of the Shadowpaw. “We need to get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

“Right,” Callum said breathlessly, his mind a jumbled mess.

They went back to the campsite, because they had nowhere else to go. Rayla led the Shadowpaw to the fireside and sat down with her back against his side. Callum cast around aimlessly, hoping he had overlooked something in his panic earlier, but there was nothing left. Their packs, his precious sketch book, any of the essentials like water bags and the tinder box were all gone. The only things they had were the clothes on their backs, the bed rolls, a mount and Rayla’s swords, one of which was on the dangerous side of the wall.

Callum couldn’t bring himself to sit by Rayla’s side, so he curled up on the bed roll nearby, but he couldn’t settle. There were too many emotions whirling through him, that even the breathing exercises did little to help. Eventually, he looked up to check on Rayla, and found she had her eyes closed, cheek pressed into the coat of the Shadowpaw. Cornix felt his gaze and opened one beady eye, watching for a long moment before closing it again, completely silent.

Cerys fluttered with anxiety at Callum’s side, and he slowly got up. Rayla opened her eyes and turned her head in his direction, most likely out of reflex.

“Where’re ya goin’?” her tone was tense – with what emotion, Callum wasn’t sure.

“A drink.” He lied, hating how Cerys fanned her tail and tilted her head as he spoke, giving him away.

The corner of Rayla’s mouth twisted, and she turned away from him, pulling the blankets closer around her shoulders. Callum fought the urge to run away across the oasis, forcing himself to stay calm and even keeled as he walked to the water’s edge. He took a drink, and splashed some over his face before finding a nice big rock and curling into its shadow, wishing he could bury himself under it. Cerys flitted around, full of nerves and needing to express them before she spontaneously combusted from the pressure. Once Callum had been sitting in silence for a while, she bounced up off the sand onto his boot, and he tore his hand slowly away from his face, tears in his eyes, and looked at her.

“I’ve messed up so bad…” he moaned.

Now that his mind had had a chance to catch up with everything that had happened, from that disastrous attempt to make Rayla feel better to almost getting bitten by a deadly soul destroying snake, with no witnesses he just fell apart completely. Cerys tentatively hopped closer and closer, until she was on his knee, and he gave her a long look before he grabbed her and buried his face in her plumage.

“I thought…” he gulped, unable to finish the thought let alone the sentence.

“I was so scared,” Cerys shook in his arms.

They stayed there for a long time, slowly calming down from the awful fright they’d had. Then, once he had found some stability, Callum’s thoughts turned towards Rayla, and he cringed so much that Cerys fluttered around helplessly in response.

“What have I done?” Callum groaned, gripping his head and pulling himself downward to his knees. “Hurting Rayla is the _last_ thing I ever wanted to do…” he folded in on himself. He couldn’t believe she had actually _kissed_ him – something he had been daydreaming about for a while now, but…

Cerys fluttered and flitted around until she came to rest on his shoulder, and nuzzled into his cheek, sifting through his own thoughts on the matter. “You like her, though.”

“I know, I know,” Callum wanted to cry again, gesturing uselessly with his hands. “But I didn’t want it to happen like _this_! Not when she’s so low and vulnerable and _desperate_ to feel accepted.” He winced and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and bent over again. Sighing heavily, he said, “This is the last thing she needs right now, being taken advantage of…”

Cerys was silent for a long time. Eventually, she nuzzled her way into the crook of his neck, and pecked at his jaw affectionately. “It’s _not_ a good time.” she agreed gently. “But there _will be_ time. We have to rescue Zym first. Once he’s safe, we can…” she hesitated, and he leaned into her touch, desperate for reassurance. “We can figure out what to do then.”

“What if she hates me?” Callum asked in a small voice.

“I don’t know. But…” she hesitated again, and he couldn’t bear the hope that flickered in her chest, in his own. “I don’t think Rayla hates you. And whatever else you or she may think, Callum…you didn’t _intend_ to trick her into kissing you. Maybe she is angry, maybe she _does_ feel used. But one day she’ll understand that that wasn’t what you were trying to do. You both – we _all_ need some time.”

They stayed there for a while longer, and eventually Cerys murmured that they should try to get some sleep before tomorrow. He sighed, and reluctantly heaved himself to his feet. They walked back, subdued and downcast; Callum was staring at his feet, so when Cornix gave a loud caw from overhead he jumped out of his skin, half expecting to see glowing green snakes chasing after him. Rayla came dashing across the sand, wide eyed and afraid, pulling up short when she saw them.

For a long, agonising moment, no one said anything – they just looked at each other.

“I- I thought-” Rayla stammered, casting her gaze aside and fiddling with the guard on her left arm. “You were takin’ a long time, so I…”

Callum winced. He was doing a terrible job of being a supportive friend tonight. “I’m sorry, I…I just needed a moment.”

“Right,” Rayla gestured back towards the campfire without looking at him.

Cornix swooped down and landed on her horn, fixing Cerys with a look of such deep concern that Callum had to look away. He suddenly, _vividly_ remembered the feeling of the crow dæmon’s feathers against his skin, the jolt it had sent through him. Cornix had saved his life, he had broken the taboo against touching in order to do it. And like Rayla, he had done it without a moment’s hesitation, to protect someone else’s life.

Because that was who they were.

“We’d better try and get some sleep,” Rayla said briskly.

The space between them as they walked back felt empty and echoey like the ceilings of the throne room. Callum couldn’t help but think about all the times Rayla had wrapped an arm around him in a friendly and unconscious gesture, or had deliberately pulled him in for a hug when she was trying to comfort him and let him know he had her support. The physical distance between them right now felt like a yawning chasm after that close, easy intimacy.

Back at the campsite, Rayla curled up against the Shadowpaw, and Callum found a comfortable patch of ground near the fire. He had to shuffle around a fair bit to find a restful position, trying not to think about Rayla only a couple of metres away. He closed his eyes and hid his face in the crook of his elbow. Cerys snuggled into his neck, and cast one last glance at Rayla and Cornix. The crow dæmon lifted his head, cocking it to one side, and remained silent. Then, the two dæmons turned away, back to their respective people, to try and get some sleep.

Even without the emotional strain hanging over them, tomorrow was going to be a long and difficult day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally head canon that Rayla first realises she loves Callum during his dark magic coma, and Callum first realises that he loves her when she’s giving that beautiful speech to Sol Regem about him, but all his ‘attempts’ to flirt with her fall flat so he believes its unrequited. He therefore panics when she kisses him at the oasis, and worries that in her emotional distress she felt she owed him in return for the nice, comforting things he had said. Unless and until we get a novelisation of Season 3 that’s my version of reality and this AU is sticking to it xD


	8. When Did You Settle?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Post Episode 1: Taking a break from their trek through Xadia, Rayla and Callum swap stories about when and how their dæmons settled into their true forms.

Cerys landed on top of Zym’s head, cooing when the little dragon licked at her tail, little quivers of lightning flickering across her feathers. Callum shivered involuntarily, and he and Rayla shared a chuckle at their antics.

They had stopped sometime just before nightfall, and managed to cobble together a campfire for warmth and some spring fruits to eat at the edge of the woods. Their ears still faintly rang with the sound of Sol Regem’s wrath, despite the encounter being several days ago now. The peace and quiet under the canopy was a bit surreal in comparison.

On a sudden, unbidden impulse, as she watched Zym playing with the dove dæmon, Rayla asked, “How did Cerys settle?”

Callum blinked and looked at her in surprise. He looked to his dæmon, who shrugged back and closed her eyes, letting Zym bowl her over and snuggle up against her. Cornix swooped down and landed on Zym’s back, poking him with his beak, and the dragonling rounded on him with a bark of delight.

“It just…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sort of happened, I guess? We weren’t really thinking about it. I was…maybe eleven, twelve? We were at the Banther Lodge for the winter solstice. We went out into the snow to play like normal. Usually Cerys would be a snow leopard or a winter hare or something, but she just stayed a bird the whole day. Dad was busy with some last-minute Council business, so I was in charge of looking after Ez for the day.” He chuckled with some measure of embarrassment. “I took it really seriously…I think Ezran was a bit annoyed with me at times. Then, at the end of the day when we were walking back to the Lodge, Ez asked me why Cerys wasn’t letting Kalila sit on her…usually she’d change into something big like a large dog or a bear so Kalila could catch a ride when she was tired. And…I just suddenly realised.” He held his hands up with a wry smile, gesturing uselessly, trying to convey that feeling Rayla had experienced for herself. “Cerys _couldn’t_ change anymore. And she didn’t want to, and _I_ didn’t want her to.”

The collared dove at his feet flapped gently up to his arm, and he set her on her accustomed place on his shoulder, rubbing his face against her plumage. “And it just felt so _right_.” He finished softly, snuggling into her feathers. Cerys cooed happily to him.

Cornix continued to play around with Zym a bit longer before the little dragon got tired and crawled into Callum’s arms. The crow landed on Rayla’s horn and cocked his head to one side, watching Cerys.

“So…” Callum asked slowly, giving Rayla that shy, sideways smile that was so familiar and yet starting to do strange things to the way her heartbeat in her chest. “How did Cornix settle?”

Rayla contemplated her boot for a moment, and Cornix swooped down to perch on her toes, puffing himself up to look bigger and more self-important. “The same kind of thing, I guess.” She bounced her foot, and he moved with her, keeping perfect balance and moving his head as little as possible. “I went out to train one day. I think it was the summer, or maybe early spring. I was twelve. We didn’t really think much of it; he _did_ change a few times, but they were all birds. By the afternoon we were just workin’ with it. We used to get exercises where we’d be told Cornix _had_ to be a particular shape, and we had to try and complete the tasks we were given, but that day we could choose.” Rayla tilted her head to one side and studied her dæmon, trying to see him through a stranger’s eyes. Cornix gazed back steadily. He seemed completely contented, which was something of a novelty for him – he was as restless and anxious for movement as she was most of the time.

“When did you notice he’d settled?” Callum asked.

Cerys fluttered down from his shoulder onto Callum’s own boot, and he moved his leg so that the two bird dæmons were side by side. She rolled her wings and bedded herself down where she was, watching Cornix with open curiosity. Cornix sat up straight and cocked his head to one side before leaning over to wipe his beak against her wing amicably. Both human and elf felt the surge of affection between their dæmons at the close physical contact.

“At supper. He used to like turnin’ into something fluffy, like a cat or a singin’-weasel, and sit on m’lap while we ate.” She paused for a long time, her gaze trailing down to her knee as Cornix looked at her sadly.

She was thinking about how Ethari had noticed that he had been sitting on her shoulder instead of her lap. He had commented on it, and she had suddenly realised Cornix had settled into his true form. Runaan had been so proud, and had made such a fuss over her for a whole week she had almost felt stifled, to receive so much attention from someone usually so cool and distant. She shrugged helplessly, caught up in the surge of emotions. So much had changed since then…she wondered how they would react when she pitched up on their doorstep again after all these weeks.

“And there he was, just sat on m’shoulder lookin’ like this. He never changed after that.” Rayla gave Callum a small smile, feeling suddenly very shy. This was…a very personal, and deeply intimate piece of information to share with someone. She didn’t know how humans approached it, but a dæmon settling was a really big deal in Xadia; that part of your soul that the rest of the world could see, taking on a shape that said something about your deepest nature. It was loaded with meaning. “Like you said, it just felt… _right_.” Wanting to ease the tension brought on by the conversation, she grinned and added carelessly, “I kinda missed fluffy cuddles at night after that, but-”

Cornix cawed indignantly and pecked hard at her ankle, and she laughed at him.

“Still a big baby, though,” she said, kicking her foot up so that he launched himself into the air. He looped in a broad arc overhead before coming to rest on the crown of her head, where he stabbed her skull with his beak before he started worrying at one of her horns with a supressed snarl.

Callum smiled, and his shyness deepened, so much so that Rayla was intrigued to know what under the moon was going through his mind. Cerys was suspiciously still, something she did when she was trying not to give anything away.

“You wish it had happened differently for you?” Rayla tried to guess, and Callum laughed nervously.

“No,” Cerys flew up into his hands, and he cradled her against his chest, stroking her feathers thoughtfully. “No, it’s not that. Just…” his mouth twisted a little in embarrassment. His gaze flicked up to Rayla’s face, and then away again sheepishly. “There’s this…story, like an old folk tale, in Katolis. There were these two people who travelled out into the world when they were kids, and they realised they loved each other. But they couldn’t stay together after their adventure – its convoluted and complicated to explain without telling the _whole_ lay. But, story wise there’s a _very_ good reason. So, anyway – before they part ways, they each put a hand on the other’s dæmon, and they settled into those forms, because they didn’t want any other form after their true love had touched them.” He smiled contritely. “I guess I’m just a hopeless romantic at heart,” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at Rayla or Cornix. “I suppose I had hoped when I was younger it would be way grander and more profound than it turned out, really. I’m happy,” he added, giving his dæmon a loving squeeze, earning a coo in response. “I guess that’s all anyone could ask for. Soren really wanted a lion or a banther or something, and Constancia settled as an Alsatian. I think that made him upset for quite a long time. My stepdad used to say the best feeling in life is being content and comfortable with who you are. With your dæmon,” he rubbed his face against her wings, and she leaned up to peck lovingly at his ear. “And I think she’s perfect just the way she is.” He said gently to Rayla, but looking at Cerys.

Rayla felt the air leave her lungs, like something had inexorably sucked it from her chest.

She knew she was falling for this human boy. She didn’t want to imagine the world without his soft, gentle light blooming in its dark recesses.

And she had touched his dæmon – grabbed her before she could fall off the edge of the cliff when they had been unconscious and feverish. It was that or let her fall further away and cause them both indescribable anguish to be separated, or worse be fatally injured. Rayla was quite sure neither of them knew that, and a quick flick towards Cornix’s thoughts confirmed that he had kept his beak tightly shut on the matter with Cerys. It needed to stay that way.

If Callum didn’t return her feelings, she’d rather pine for him the rest of her long life than risk losing or damaging their friendship. His gentle, affectionate, understanding smile; every kind gesture of trust and faith in her; his wide eyed, guileless curiosity for the world. These things meant everything to her, and she almost couldn’t bear to admit to herself or her own dæmon that she relied on him so heavily right now to keep going.

Cornix ducked in against Rayla’s side, where Callum and Cerys couldn’t see him, and quivered with supressed longing. She put a hand on him to steady them both, rubbing his feathers and tracing the edges of the markings along his sides.

Zym yawned widely and snuffled around until he was splayed out across both their laps, and Cerys fluttered down to sit on his back, eyes closed and humming contentedly in time with Callum’s own gentle breathing. Usually, Cornix would flap over and settle in beside her, but he was too wrapped up in Rayla’s own disquiet, so he clumsily buried himself into the crook of her neck, back turned to the other dæmon. If the others noticed his change in behaviour, they gave no indication of it.

Callum yawned and stretched his arms dramatically. “Well, I guess we’d better think about sleep.” He poked his dozing dæmon amiably. “Think we should move him?”

“Nah. Let the wee fella sleep.” She said, rubbing Zym’s ears.

That of course meant trying to fall asleep herself with Callum at her elbow, his dæmon a hand’s span away from her, within painfully easy reach.

After they said goodnight to each other, it didn’t take long for Callum to nod off. He slowly capsized until his cheek was pressed against Rayla’s shoulder, and with him unconscious she allowed herself a small smile. His hair felt very soft as she gently rubbed her cheek against him. Cornix dared to flap down, landing on Zym’s head and waiting for a reaction. The little dragon snoozed on, so he hopped down to nestle in beside Cerys. The urge to snuggle in was strong, but he settled for just letting their wings touch, poking her neck with his beak before tucking himself into his own little ball. Cerys didn’t stir in response, and Rayla just let herself drift into the soft darkness of sleep, feeling very safe in this warm bubble with her best friend, despite the lack of a roof over their heads and the knowledge that somewhere, out there, was a _very_ pissed off arch dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve reviewed the chapters I’ve written so far, and I’m interested in exploring other characters that are not Team Zym (or rather, Rayllum centric xD). If there’s a character(s) you’d like to see more of let me know – I’m currently drafting the Aaravos reveal scene and meeting Ethari, as well as pre-season 1 circa Harrow and Sarai’s courtship, but I’m open to requests for specific characters as well.


	9. Meeting The In-Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Season 1: Harrow introduces Sarai and her family to his father and best friend. The visit goes well, but Harrow is still concerned about how his relationship with Sarai could affect Callum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yesterday I found out that His Dark Materials season 2 is airing this autumn, and I was really happy. Then just a few hours later I heard the fantastic news that Netflix has picked up all four remaining seasons of The Dragon Prince so we get the whole freaking saga in seven beautiful instalments, and I went ballistic xD As such, I’m celebrating by posting this chapter earlier than I had intended to – sometimes I write masses in a short space of time, but then don’t write for a while, so I’m trying to keep a bank of at least a couple finished pieces for this AU in reserve to keep the upload rate for this story RELATIVELY consistent.
> 
> This particular chapter has been in the works for ages, but I wanted to get everyone’s dæmons pinned down and named first before I wrote it out in full. I’ve tried to be like Philip Pullman and the Dragon Prince crew in giving them appropriate forms and interesting, if not meaningful names. I also had hoped by now to have got a copy of the novelisation of Season 1, and read about Soren and Claudia’s mother before trying to write her into this chapter, not knowing what she was like or when she had divorced Viren – but Covid happened and stock has been massively delayed in being shipped, so fair enough I’ll just wait. Then I remembered the fan wiki site exists, and this is an AU, so canon accuracy doesn’t need to be a high priority here anyway xD

Callum shuffled nervously and tried to hide in his mother’s shadow. Cerys was in the form of a sparrow, chittering nervously on his shoulder. Harrow tried to smile at him reassuringly, but Callum just shrank even deeper into Sarai’s side. The castle was an intimidating place; all stone walls and incredibly high ceilings, and lots of guards marching around with stern faces.

Harrow was equally full of nerves, in no small part because Sarai’s sister was eyeballing him like she meant every word of her threat, signed before they had left for the castle. It was also mostly down to the fact that today they were being formally introduced to the King. He was intensely grateful that Viren had agreed to be there, he really needed the support.

The Crown Prince was quite sure he was completely head over heels for Sarai, and he knew he was asking a lot of her to agree to this courtship. Flirting with a beautiful woman he found very attractive was one thing, but it had become a lot more serious when she had flirted back after handing his ass to him on a plate in sparring practise. That she had had a son had made him pause long enough to consider the most tactful way to proceed, but proceed he had. That they had got this far seemed a small miracle; she had been adamant that if Callum didn’t like him, it ended then and there for all their sakes. In some bizarre way, that had made Harrow love her all the more; she was a good mother, fiercely protective and devoted to her family. Before Harrow’s own mother had died, she had told him you knew it was true love if you could imagine being a parent with them, and were completely comfortable with the idea.

Harrow looked down at the little boy, who was eyeing the paintings on the wall with nervous interest as they walked down the long corridor. His dæmon chirruped and swooped down to the floor where she became a puppy, and dogged Kaki’s footsteps. The Dhole lowered his rusty red muzzle and licked the pup’s face reassuringly. Callum squeezed his mother’s hand, and smiled at her when she looked down at him with a smile of her own. She caught Harrow’s gaze, and he gave her a politician’s smile to hide his nerves. She glanced at Epira by his side, who was being ever so slightly twitchy as her own nerves mounted. Under Sarai’s gaze, the Mastiff dæmon squirmed, so she looked away again, a barely concealed smile on her lips.

All too soon, they were at the door to the King’s private living room. Harrow had to take a moment to collect himself, and despite the mounting tension smiled when Kaki walked over to Epira and bumped noses, tails wagging. He looked at Sarai, who was leaning down to put both her hands on her son’s shoulders. Callum gulped, wide eyed and very small looking. Cerys was sitting on his collarbone, in the shape of an inexpressive moth. Harrow almost chuckled – Epira used to take a similar form when he was little in order to hide his emotions from the Court.

Harrow crouched down in front of the boy, who leaned back against his mother, clutching at her hands. She took both of his in one of hers, and ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair comfortingly. His dæmon became a mouse and crawled into his shirt with a squeak.

“All right, Callum?” Harrow asked pleasantly, trying to ignore the way Amaya was watching him. Her own dæmon was a grizzled grey wolf with a torn ear, and in his anger was the single most menacing creature he had ever come across. The fact that he was deaf and mute like his human just managed to add to his intimidating presence.

Callum hummed as he nodded, still pressing himself against his mother’s legs. He looked up at her when she touched his face and murmured, “Are you okay?” When he stared back with those big, round green eyes, she smoothed the hair off his face again and said gently, “Take a deep breath, sweetie.”

Obediently, Callum put his hands together and pressed them against his chin as he followed Sarai’s example: a nice long, deep breath in through the nose, holding it for a moment, before gently letting it go. They repeated it a few more times before Callum opened his eyes again and looked Harrow full in the face.

“Better?” he asked with a smile.

Callum didn’t speak, but he nodded comfortably with a shy smile. Cerys crawled out of his shirt collar as a ladybird, and shifted into a moth again as she fluttered around before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Good,” Harrow hesitated, going to ruffle Callum’s hair but quickly deciding against it. Instead, he touched the boy’s other shoulder. “Claudia and Soren are looking forward to meeting you.” He saw Amaya sign something to Sarai, and the older sister turned towards the gestures. Her smile became fixed, and her stare took on a flinty quality. She smiled gently at Callum, and nudged him forward to take Harrow’s hand before rounding on Amaya. They exchanged a brief, almost violent flurry of signs, and Harrow cleared his throat when Sarai made a vulgar hand gesture that would have got them all into a lot of trouble at Court. He looked very deliberately from the door he had his free hand on the handle of, down to her son who was staring at said door like he thought it might eat him, and back to Sarai. Kaki let go of the wolf dæmon’s ear and padded over to Epira, bumping shoulders as he passed.

“Ready?” Harrow asked them all.

To his surprise, Callum found his voice and piped up, “Yes.” Cerys slowly fanned her delicate brown wings on his shoulder.

Sarai stroked his hair as Harrow knocked, and the King’s deep voice resonated from within, saying in a voice rather commanding for the situation, “Enter.”

Callum hesitated, only moving forward when his mother took his other hand, and the three of them entered the room together. It was comfortably and sparingly furnished – at least, by the standards of Katolian nobility; the stone walls were dressed with wooden panels in some places, rich tapestries and bright portraits in others. The high narrow windows were filled with the grey overcast light of a sky promising spring showers later, and a cheerful fire crackled in the grate that cast a warm glow over the collection of armchairs and the comfy sofa scattered around the hearth.

Harrow smiled gratefully at Viren as he got up from the couch with his wife. Claudia bounced up from where she and Soren had been playing on the rug in front of the fireplace, and skipped to Viren’s side. The man gave him an amused look, and smiled pleasantly at Sarai and Callum. Harrow tried not to look nervous as his father got up from his chair and made his stately way across the room towards them. He looked down at Callum when the boy gripped his hand more tightly with reflexive nerves, and looked up at Harrow with wide eyes. Kaki padded forward and plonked himself down right in front of Callum, sitting with his shoulders ever so slightly hunched as he stared the man down.

King Hadrian loomed by Viren’s side, tilting his head a little as he observed the woman his son was attempting to court and her family. Sarai and Amaya politely bowed, and Callum jumped when he noticed the gestures, rushing clumsily to do the same and trying to ignore the bright eyed, inquisitive way Claudia and her dæmon were looking at him. Harrow gave Callum’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Clearing his throat he said, somewhat awkwardly, “Well, allow me to introduce everyone!” he gestured at his friends, who both smiled back. “This is my dear friend Viren, and his wife Lissa, and their children Soren and Claudia.” Viren inclined his head politely as Lissa bowed, and Soren waved merrily while Claudia gave a pretty little curtsey. “My father, Hadrian.” He bowed his head deeply in acknowledgment. “And,” Harrow smiled at Sarai, taking strength from her calm and steady presence. He let go of Callum’s hand as she manoeuvred her son in front of her, a hand on each shoulder. “This is Sarai, Amaya, and Callum. I – think it’s more appropriate to let everyone introduce their dæmons,” he paused awkwardly, and then coughed self-consciously.

Claudia being Claudia, she bustled forward with Salem bounding at her side, in the form of a beige coloured hare. She stuck her hand out, and Callum baulked into his mother’s embrace. “Hi Callum, nice to meet you.” She said brightly, outwardly oblivious to Callum’s distress. “This is Salem,” she pointed at her dæmon, who turned into a black cat and wound himself around her legs.

“Pleased to meet you,” he mewed demurely, tail waving appealingly.

“Hi.” Callum squeaked. His own dæmon fluttered onto his wrist, and he cradled her to his chest. “This is Cerys.” He said haltingly, and she languidly flapped her moth wings, trying to look very small and inoffensive.

Lissa touched Soren’s shoulder, and he marched forward as well, a lot more self-conscious than his sister. He stuck his hand out to Callum, who stared at it uncomprehendingly. “My dæmon’s called Constancia. But you can call her Cia,” she was currently in the form of a greyhound, tail wagging happily at the prospect of making a new friend.

Cerys crawled onto the tips of Callum’s fingers and became a twitchy sparrow again. “Hello.” She chirruped.

Viren cleared his throat. “Soren, Claudia. Why don’t you show Callum what you were doing? Let the grown ups get on with their boring conversation.”

“Okay!” Soren bounded back to the hearth without looking back, glad to be rid of the formalities.

Claudia beamed at Callum, who smiled back nervously. “Do you like colouring in?”

Harrow couldn’t keep himself from smiling at the look on the little boy’s face; first surprise and then delight at the prospect. “Yeah!”

“C’mon, I’ll show you what I’m doing,” she grabbed his hand and tugged him along in Soren’s wake, both dæmons becoming little songbirds that flitted through the air above their heads.

The adults all chuckled at this, though Harrow noted how Kaki paced after Callum and sat down on his haunches between him and Sarai, ears pricked, betraying her anxiety. Harrow hesitantly touched her arm, and although Sarai turned her attention to him, her dæmon remained watchful, ignoring the way the King’s mountain lion dæmon fixed him with her amber stare.

“This is Adrienne,” Harrow’s father said with an unnecessarily grand gesture to his dæmon.

Harrow waited for Sarai’s gaze to settle on her before he pulled a face at his father. This was supposed to be a _casual_ meeting, and he wasn’t _acting_ like it. Poor Callum was having a hard enough time dealing with someone entering his life like this without the added, complicating layer of royal protocol.

Viren gave him a really unhelpful, bright smile, looking a lot like his daughter for a moment, before he cleared his throat and reached a hand up to his own dæmon. She was a small black cobra with a bright red collar on her neck, and some more asymmetrical markings down her belly, and was as ever draped around his neck and shoulders. She looked back at the grizzly grey wolf by Amaya’s side with as much interest as the wolf was showing her. Kaki flicked an ear in their direction, but didn’t waver in his vigilance; Callum was happily joining in with the colouring while Soren bounced around pretending to slay a mighty dragon, Cia very happily playing the part of the villainous monster in the form of a large monitor lizard.

“Allow me to introduce, my Morgause.” Viren said smoothly, with a slightly melodramatic inclination of his head.

Lissa looked from her husband to Harrow with a wry smile, and Harrow made sure his responding smile was very bland to keep from laughing. Imitating his mannerisms, she said lightly, “And this is my Serana,” gently brushing the feathered neck of her nightingale dæmon, who chirruped in response.

Sarai bowed her head, and without looking at each other, Kaki got up and paced back to her side, sitting down between his human and Amaya, casting another glance at the children, who were now too thoroughly absorbed in their activities to be paying the grown-ups any attention. Harrow breathed a sigh of relief, and flatly ignored the way his father looked at him in response. Callum was comfortable and felt safe – that was the thing he had been most worried about regarding today.

“It’s nice to meet you all. This is Kaki,” she gestured at her dæmon, and then to the wolf next to Amaya. “And Palip.”

“And it’s so nice to finally have a face for the name,” Lissa said pleasantly, exchanging looks with her husband. “Harrow has told us a lot about you.” Her smile was borderline playful.

Never missing the opportunity to wind Harrow up, Sarai folded her arms and shot him a sly, amused kind of look. “Oh he _has_ , has he?”

Harrow chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Heh, all good things, I assure you!”

Amaya signed something with a grin, and Sarai looked for a moment like she might slap her, but very quickly schooled her expression, painfully aware that her Sovereign King was present in the room not six paces away. Harrow was rather grateful that he couldn’t interpret signs very well yet; he had a feeling whatever she had communicated would have made him blush furiously.

“Well then,” his father said, still with that commanding tone of his that was usually reserved for official business. “Shall we not sit down? Harrow, help me get the drinks.”

“Ah, yes Father,” he said automatically, polite and proper. He tried to supress a smile at the way Sarai looked at him. She knew what he was like behind closed doors, and Prim and Proper Princely Harrow was hilarious by comparison. That was partly why he had been infatuated from the get go; she saw him both as a Prince and a soldier, and as just Harrow – and she liked him just for being himself.

While they were gathering glasses and pouring drinks, Harrow overheard Lissa be the first to make a blunder over Amaya’s deafness, and glanced in their direction as she clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with horror at what she had just said and stammering to apologise.

And true to form, before Harrow could even think about how he could possibly intervene and help, Sarai had everything under control.

“She’s been as deaf as a post since she was born.”

Amaya amiably punched her arm, and Sarai didn’t flinch; she gave Viren a bright smile as the man stared back at her in surprise, and then burst out laughing. Harrow turned back to what he was doing with a barely concealed smile of his own. He looked up when his father stilled, and saw him watching closely.

“Please go easy,” Harrow murmured, looking pointedly at Callum on the hearth rug, watching Soren flail around with wide eyed wonder as the older boy spun some narrative about being the big heroic knight that saved the entire city from a dragon attack. Then he blinked and snapped his attention back to Claudia when she asked him a question about which colour she should use next. All three dæmons were bouncing around in that way that children’s dæmon’s often would, flitting between forms as their attention and the focus of their conversation changed.

The King drew himself up to his full and considerable height – all six feet and eight inches of it. “I am not _entirely_ without tact, boy.” He said primly.

“Please, Father.” Harrow begged. “Callum’s scared enough without you doing your Kingly impression. This is supposed to be a _casual_ family gathering.”

In a rare gesture of surrender, Hadrian lifted his hands, head bowed, and took a step back. Harrow scowled at him for a long moment, Epira growling long, low and deep in her throat; the mountain lion just gave her a long look before turning to slink into her human’s shadow with a flick of her ears. Harrow blinked, and Epira’s growl ceased instantly. He…couldn’t remember having ever won an argument with his father like that – Adrienne was formidable, and she never bowed to _anyone_ , human or dæmon.

Once the drinks were handed out, the adults all sat down around the fireplace to make small talk. Hadrian did make a concerted effort to tone down his language and the timbre of his voice, but he was after all a King, so it was impossible for him to completely lose his authoritative air. That was just who he was. But Harrow was very grateful that he tried, all the same.

Sarai, being the kind of person she was, kept her sister included in the conversation, signing to indicate when someone else started talking so Amaya could turn to look at their lips, and obligingly translated when she wanted to contribute to the conversation. Sarai was also always aware of Callum, who was so thoroughly absorbed in the picture he was drawing that he paid her no attention at all. Kaki was most often watching him when Sarai was talking or listening; Hadrian noted this, and passed no comment, nor even gave Harrow any meaningful looks, which was just a bit disconcerting because it meant the Prince had no idea what his father was thinking.

Viren kept giving Harrow reassuring smiles, and kept the conversation going in different and innocuous directions, often interjecting over the King in order to do so. It was one of those rare occasions where the King was the one on his best behaviour – Harrow and Viren weren’t mature enough to not take advantage of that. Lissa rolled her eyes more than once and gave Sarai a long-suffering smile when the two men took over the conversation at Hadrian’s expense.

Finally, the King bristled, cleared his throat, and let Viren shrivel for a moment as Adrienne slowly got to her feet and sat back on her haunches, giving him a steady, level look, tip of her tail _just_ perceptibly flicking. Then he turned to look directly at Harrow, who tried to look firm and not laugh at either him or Viren.

Sensing that the boys were about to get disciplined, Lissa gently clapped her hands together and said, “So! Sarai, how old is your boy?”

Sarai chuckled, and patted her dæmon’s head, who was still watching Callum, who was still oblivious to the world around him. “He’s nearly four. What about your two?”

Both being mothers, they started swapping stories, and Hadrian gave up on what he had been planning to say in order to avoid a scene. Harrow caught Viren’s rather self-satisfied smile, and he had to look away in case he burst out laughing. While they were talking, Amaya gestured something to Sarai before she got up and went to the hearth where Callum was. He started with a squeak when she picked him up, and then cuddled into her embrace when she sat down cross legged with him on her lap. Cerys pounced from his shoulder and landed on Palip’s back as a tortoiseshell cat, before shifting into a wolf himself and nipping his ear affectionately.

Amaya gestured questioningly at the picture, and Callum clumsily signed back. His aunt made a show of looking interested, and of course didn’t react when Claudia leaned over her shoulder and asked out loud, “What are you doing?”

Callum looked up, wide eyed, which alerted Amaya to the girl’s presence. “Um…” he blinked and swallowed nervously. “Signing?”

“What’s that?” Claudia asked, completely without guile.

“Talking… with hands.” Callum said uncertainly.

“How can you talk with your hands?” Claudia asked.

Sarai made a move to stand up, interrupting her conversation with Viren, and Lissa turned to her daughter with a careful smile.

“Claudia,”

“But I don’t understand!” the girl insisted, as wide eyed as Callum but for different reasons.

Harrow put a hand on Sarai’s arm and got up himself. He sat down next to Amaya and pulled Claudia onto his knee. She stared back in earnest, and he chuckled. “Amaya can’t hear, so she ‘talks’ by using her hands,” he said, making sure to move his lips clearly.

“She can’t hear?” Claudia had clearly never thought about such a thing, and being of an inquisitive disposition, she launched into a whole ream of questions.

Harrow tried to curb her enthusiasm, giving her a simplified version of what Sarai had told him, and letting Callum translate a few words from Amaya to answer Claudia’s more burning questions. Harrow’s head snapped up when Viren chuckled, and he found his friend looming over his shoulder.

“I think that’s enough interrogation for one day, Claudia.” He told her. “I’m sure Amaya would like a break.”

Amaya caught Harrow’s eye; she looked rather amused by the situation. She glanced down at her nephew, who was watching Viren with those big, anxious but curious eyes, and ruffled his hair with both hands. Palip knocked Cerys onto her back and growled playfully, licking her puppy ears affectionately while Callum giggled and his dæmon yipped, tail wagging.

Harrow shot Viren a look, heart skipping a beat. Sarai and Lissa were listening to his father intently, and Viren was suddenly distracted by Soren bouncing around his feet, grabbing his arms and clamouring for attention. Cia became a large beetle, and settled on Morgause’s head; the snake blinked her eyes slowly in response.

Eventually, Viren got the kids to play a card game with Amaya (Callum translating for her), and asked loudly if Harrow wanted help getting the next round of drinks for their guests. At the cabinet, Harrow said in a low hiss, “I asked you not to leave her alone!”

Viren chuckled, and Harrow contemplated slugging his arm. Morgause slowly and deliberately turned her head to look directly at Harrow, who scowled back. “I think your girlfriend is perfectly capable of fending for herself.” Viren said gently.

“In the normal course of things, _yes_!” Harrow gestured uselessly. “But this isn’t normal!”

“Isn’t bringing them home to meet the parents the normal procedure for these things?”

Was the bastard mocking him? Morgause wasn’t giving anything away. Epira was watching her, almost hawk like, as though she intended to snap at the cobra the moment she was far enough away from Viren. Which virtually never happened, because she lived her entire life around his neck or wound about his arm.

Harrow’s scowl deepened, and he looked very deliberately from his father’s armchair and back before gesturing with more focus and intent. “Have you _met_ my father!?”

Viren’s smile was thin lipped to keep his laughter under control. “Once or twice. My point, Harrow,” he added, raising a hand to placate him when he saw Harrow contemplating his options of physical responses under the circumstances. “Is that, if Sarai is unafraid of _your_ title, why should she be concerned about your father’s?”

Harrow lowered his hands and stared at the floor for a long moment, not noticing that he had folded his hands behind his back and that Epira was sat on her haunches at his side, tense and watchful. He took a deep and steadying breath, only looking up when Viren put a hand on his arm.

“Harrow?” he asked, concerned.

He sighed again, and shook his head gently. “I am one thing. My title is another.” He glanced across the room at Callum. He was sitting on his aunt’s knee, with Claudia on the other, and Soren draped across her shoulders, experimenting with her deafness by snapping his fingers near her ears. Of course, she could feel the vibrations and movement, and so knew exactly what he was doing.

Lissa turned to Sarai, wide eyed. “I’m so sorry about my son-”

Sarai laughed it off. “You should see the things Callum gets up to. He’s determined to sneak up on her, but she’s way too sly…”

Viren followed his gaze, and it clicked into place. “Ah. The boy.”

Harrow nodded. “My…father has already pointed out the… _complication_ , Callum poses.” The words left a bad taste in his mouth. “And he’s led me to believe that…” he paused, because Amaya looked right at him, and he didn’t dare say anything that could be interpreted as inflammatory.

“That it’s a poor match?” Viren said in a low voice once Amaya looked away.

Harrow didn’t say anything, but he smiled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Viren gave him a deep and complicated look, and he had a feeling he was going to get a run down of the mage’s thoughts on the matter much later, when they weren’t surrounded by judging ears and the chaos that came with child minding.

The rest of the afternoon went relatively smoothly; Viren’s children were as loud and inquisitive as ever, and when they ran back into the bubble of conversation amongst the adults, Callum crawled into his mother’s arms and elected to stay there with his field mouse dæmon tucked into his neck, the noise beginning to be a bit too much for him. Harrow saw his father giving the boy an intent look, and Kaki raised his hackles ever so slightly; Sarai didn’t say anything directly, but she drew her son up closer to her. Viren also noticed this, and coughed loudly to divert everyone’s attention.

“So! Soren, son. What have you been learning about in your classes, this week?”

Viren kept the conversation rolling in an innocuous direction, often asking Hadrian to contribute and using the children to keep his politician instincts in check. Harrow was very grateful, and resolved to get his hands on a bottle of Viren’s favourite and rarest wine to convey his thanks.

Hadrian continued to scrutinise the three of them, but he was more covert about it. Viren and Harrow still noticed, and he was quite sure that Sarai did too; she kept Callum close for the rest of the visit.

When home time did eventually come around, they all stood up, shook hands or bowed wherever appropriate, and Harrow caught a snippet of conversation between Sarai and Viren as Claudia clamoured for Uncle Harrow’s attention.

“Well, it was lovely to finally meet you. I was beginning to think that Harrow was trying to hide me from you,”

Sarai laughed good naturedly, stroking Callum’s hair. He was sitting on her hip, passed out on her shoulder; it had been a long and nerve-racking day for the poor boy, and he was shattered. “And it was good to meet you too, finally.”

“I do hope we will be seeing more of you in the near future.” Viren told her warmly.

“So do I,” Sarai replied.

After all the goodbyes had been made, Harrow escorted the family to the main courtyard, making inoffensive small talk as they went. Before they departed, Sarai handed Callum over to Amaya, and she politely turned her back to give the two of them some privacy. Kaki drooped once Palip wasn’t looking, and wagged his tail tiredly when Epira licked his face tenderly.

“I…really hope my father didn’t offend you, or speak out of turn.” Harrow said quietly, very much aware – as he always was – of the eyes and ears around him in that courtyard.

“No, he didn’t.” Sarai said carefully, equally aware of being overheard.

But he could see it in her eyes; she knew his father had been looking at her son, and thinking about all those implications.

“I’d better get these two home,” Sarai said softly, pressing his hand. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, at the training grounds?”

Harrow smiled, and resisted the urge to kiss her cheek so publicly. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Sarai tapped Amaya on the shoulder, and she handed Callum back into her custody. She then turned and signed to Harrow with a wry smile.

“Thank you for the drinks and conversation.” Sarai translated, and then rolled her eyes when her sister signed something else, and practically booted her out of the castle.

Harrow’s smile faded after they turned a corner and left his sight, and he brooded on the return journey. Viren had gone looking for him, with a message that the King wanted to see him, and so they walked towards his study together, slowly.

“If I might speak,” Viren said eventually, his face pensive.

“You may. Freely, and with candour.” Harrow recited one of his politician lines, which made them both chuckle.

“Put bluntly, my friend,” Viren paused for a moment, and his dæmon slid down his arm onto Epira’s back. It was a rare and heart-warming gesture. “If your father cannot see past Sarai’s circumstances and prior family commitments, then he is a fool.”

Harrow had to pause for a moment, and Viren turned to wait for him to collect himself. He pressed his friend’s hand. “Thank you, Viren.”

He had been chasing these thoughts around and around his own head for months now; he thought he was losing his mind, or maybe managing to delude himself. It felt affirming to hear Viren’s view of the situation.

“I know there are _some_ in the Court, who shall remain nameless, who may feel obliged to speak out against her. But from what you have told me, and what I have observed this afternoon, I think she’s perfect for you.”

Harrow sighed dramatically, and Epira trotted to Viren’s side so that Morgause could slither up his arm to rest once more on his shoulders.

“If only the rest of the Court were as amiable as you.”

Viren chuckled, and they walked on in companionable silence. Outside the study, Viren hesitated, before saying in a low voice, “I’ll be in my own study until late. In case you need me after…” he gave the door a slightly reproachful look.

“Ahh, Viren. My friend,” he pulled the man into a one-armed hug, the motion slow and exaggerated to give Morgause enough time to avoid him. “What would I do without you?”

“I shudder to think, Harrow.” Viren gave him a mocking curtsey, and went on his way with a soft laugh.

When on his own, Harrow sighed, rubbed his eyes, and then straightened himself up with a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Harrow did so, and was told to close the door and bank the fire. While he did this, the King continued with his letters, and his son sat down nervously in the smaller chair on the other side of the desk. After what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few minutes, the King set his paperwork aside, and sat back in his chair, scratching his dæmon’s ears absently as she laid her large, tawny head in his lap.

The silence stretched out painfully between them.

Harrow stared at his father across the writing desk for another long moment.

“Yes?” The King asked with something approaching amusement.

“Well?” Harrow asked, unable to keep the tension out of his voice. Epira tried her best to be placid and calm, but her agitation was just as obvious. “What are you thinking?”

Hadrian gave his son a long, level look. “If I told you I didn’t approve, what would you do?”

Harrow blinked, feeling like his stomach had just dropped through his feet into a yawning chasm beneath him. “ _Do_ you?”

“Answer the question, Son.”

Harrow pulled a face. “I’d probably say screw you and elope.” He blurted out. Sarai had teased him with the notion once before, and he had to be honest, the idea was starting to sound more appealing.

For a long moment, Harrow was convinced he had said entirely the wrong thing. And then his father burst out laughing, tears streaming from his eyes as he struggled to draw an even breath.

“What the _hell_ is so funny?” Harrow snarled, heart hammering in his chest.

Epira hunched her shoulders and openly growled at Adrienne, snapping at her when she started purring.

“Oh, my boy.” He chuckled to himself, still deeply amused. “I think you have your answer.”

Harrow leaned over the desk, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles drained of colour. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?!”

“Peace, Harrow.” The King waved a hand at him and leaned back in his chair.

“She means so much to you, you would willingly defy all protocol?” Adrienne asked directly and simply.

Harrow couldn’t find his voice.

She meant it lightly, but it bit too deeply for him to be able to find words with ease. Sarai had no title beyond a rank in the army, and she had a child from a previous relationship; on paper she was the absolute _worst_ choice to bring into the Courtly, Royal world he had grown up in. And it wasn’t fair to drop all that expectation on Callum, either. Harrow was incredibly fond of the boy already, but he was scared of reaching out and overstepping the boundaries Sarai had set down.

Her son would always be her first concern, and Harrow was reluctant to force himself into the boy’s life as a father figure. And she still spoke of her late husband with a tenderness that made his heart twinge painfully. Harrow _knew_ it wasn’t the boy’s fault, but Callum currently was, and could forever prove to be, a reminder that Sarai had loved someone else, and had Ethan lived, she would not have been receptive to Harrow’s advances.

It all felt like such a mess…

Hadrian watched all these emotions float across his son’s face and sighed. “Harrow, I won’t lie to you. The boy is a complication.”

“It’s not Callum’s fault.” Harrow said, trying not to sound pugnacious and not really succeeding.

“But it is something that must be thought through carefully. Have you considered, for example, that Callum is the first born, and yet, will always be playing second and third fiddle, and potentially beyond, to all his younger siblings?”

Harrow _had_ considered that. Callum would be a Prince by proxy, because his mother would be the Queen Consort. He was never going to be as important, or favoured by the kingdom, and any children he had would be excluded from succession. But he would still be expected to behave well, study diligently, and be held to an unbelievably high standard without most of the benefits that came from being a Prince.

It was so much to place on him without asking if he wanted it at all – he was far too young to understand the nuances of the situation. All Callum knew was that Harrow had been a good friend from work, and that he and Momma liked each other very much and were thinking of getting married. He was so quiet a lot of the time, and Cerys adept at finding forms that weren’t very expressive, that Harrow found it hard to gauge what the boy might be thinking. He could be rather nervous around the man at times, but he’d been very happy to sit on his knee for a story on several occasions, and on Harrow’s shoulders at the last festival.

Sarai had told him bluntly that while she was very fond of him, she wasn’t prepared to go any further if her son didn’t take to Harrow. It had been nerve racking, but Callum had appeared first ambivalent towards him, and then slowly warmed to his presence in his mother’s life. At least, he wasn’t out right terrified of Harrow – they wouldn’t have got to the whole ‘meeting the potential in-laws’ stage, otherwise.

“Harrow,”

He blinked and sat back in his seat. Epira mirrored the other dæmon, putting her head in his lap, and he stroked her face instinctively.

The King sighed, and passed a hand over his eyes wearily. “My son, I won’t be around forever. The time will come when you sit on the throne and govern the kingdom. I have tried not to put pressure on you to marry. Forced unions rarely work out to anyone’s satisfaction. In Sarai, I see someone headstrong enough to keep you in check and focused. And she has proven to be a very good mother already, which bodes well for the future of the bloodline. The one problem-”

“Callum is _not_ a problem.” Harrow said pointedly. “He’s a boy with thoughts and feelings, and no control over the situation.”

“And how do you plan to approach this, then?” Hadrian steepled his hands together and contemplated his son. “What do you intend to do?”

Harrow had been wondering just that for a while now. “I’m not his father. And I never will be.” Why did it hurt to say that out loud? Epira bit back a whine, and nuzzled into his embrace, both seeking and offering comfort. “But, I’ll be a parental figure to him. And I will do what I can to make sure he is properly prepared for royal duties.” Then, after a long pause, he added, “And it’s within my power and right to give him land, when he’s old enough. He will be provided for, at the very least.”

“And if he grows up to decide he doesn’t want to partake in royal duty?”

Harrow scowled at the ever so slightly scathing tone.

“Then I will wish him well and continue to support him, whatever he chooses.”

“Harrow,” the King sighed again, this time with obvious fatigue. “I don’t think we need to have this discussion.”

“Oh?” Harrow replied warily. He was surprised when his father gave him a loving, wan smile.

“Clearly, my boy, you’ve thought this through carefully. I can’t say how the boy may react, or the Court when your intentions become public knowledge, for that matter. But my fears of this being a passing fancy getting too out of hand have long since died. Sarai is a good match for you, my son. Whether the widowed Lieutenant Sarai and her child are a good match for the Crown Prince of Katolis remains to be seen.”

Harrow’s heart continued to skip every other beat in his chest for a painfully long moment. “So…?”

Hadrian smiled. It wasn’t until much later, after Harrow had staggered into Viren’s study to have a good long talk and then gone to bed, that the Prince realised just how old and frail his father really was. It was much later that Harrow realised how loving and sad that expression truly was, as he said, “If my approval and blessings are what you seek, my dear son, you have them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viren’s dæmon is specifically a black necked spitting cobra; I spent hours looking up different genera of snake until I narrowed it down to hooded cobras, and then I saw a picture of this particular species with its black scales and red neck markings and thought: THAT’S THE ONE <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's suggested chapter ideas - they've all gone into the to do list and I'm working steadily through it. Some ideas will take longer than others, because dæmons can be quite difficult to develop 'xD


	10. Aaravos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 Episodes 3, 4, 7 & 8: Curious as to why the Moonshadow elf feared this mirror so much, Viren set about prising its secrets wide open. Enter Aaravos stage left and be still our collective beating hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I jest in the chapter summary ‘xD Aaravos is ridiculously good looking and has a drop dead sexy voice I’ll admit, but the moment he started speaking I got manipulator/abuser vibes off him so I can’t jump on the smexy star elf band wagon. That, and his lil bug pal CREEPS ME THE HELL OUT. Crawling in and out of bodily orifices all over the place NO EHASZ JUST NO.
> 
> Also of note: this chapter contains time skips of varying sizes because I forgot how many episodes this particular plot plays out over, and that the Pentarchy Summit happens in the middle. I might do that scene with the other monarchs some other time, but I felt its inclusion here would detract from this particular chapter.

It had been a long time.

Viren had had the mirror since he had climbed the Storm Spire in the dead of winter. Even Claudia hadn’t been able to think her way around whatever defences were worked into its fabric. The elf, so calm and stoic and arrogant in his confidence, had been deeply shaken by what he had seen – so there _had_ to be something to it.

After hours of painstakingly putting the right enchantments together, nothing had happened until Viren had lost his temper completely. And he still did not understand what it was that _had_ triggered it, but suddenly a light had come from the mirror, shining from somewhere else entirely in the darkness of the dungeon room.

Determined to learn more, Viren had kept a vigil all night. He fell asleep at some point, and didn’t rouse until the candle he had lit guttered out. The smoke tickled Morgause’s nose, and she lifted her head slowly, wrapping her tail around his neck to wake him up.

“Viren…” she crooned in a low voice, filled with wonder.

He started awake, and saw what she did: a fire in the hearth of that other place, beyond the pane of glass. “The fire,” he gasped, sitting up and leaning forward, eager to see what else had changed beyond the frame of the mirror. Seemingly, not much else; high book shelves laden with tantalising tomes, exotic looking plants, opalescent floors and walls with a window that didn’t hint at what was beyond it. He sank back into his chair with a disappointed sigh.

Morgause was thinking, and sharing her views, that oddly enough wherever there was fire, there would be smoke. Someone had built and banked a fire in the hearth – they could not be very far away.

As Viren was sifting through their combined thoughts, the door in the room on the other side of the glass opened. Light spilled inside, and a dark figure entered. Viren sat up straight, spell bound. Who on _earth_ could it be on the other side of the mirror? A mirror owned by the Dragon King, no less?

The person walked in, holding their hand up, propelling the door shut without physically touching it. Morgause hissed long and low in Viren’s ear, sharing in his revelation; a mage of great power. Viren briefly rubbed his eyes, just to make doubly sure he was awake and not merely dreaming, before he leaned closer and scrutinised the image before him.

Someone dressed in dark colours, with a slightly lighter shade of purple, and a shroud covering their head. They crossed the room at a sedate pace, turned away from the mirror so that their face was hidden from view. They went straight to the shelves beside the fireplace and went looking on a shelf above their head. The skin of their arms was visible; a deep…almost ebony, fading to purple at their hands, and seemingly spun with starlight.

Surely, this had to be an elf.

A Startouch elf.

Viren gasped in amazement and awe.

Star magic was the hardest of all to harness, and it was so rare to come by ingredients linked to that Source.

Morgause exhaled with slow deliberation, and he turned to her briefly before looking back at the person in the mirror.

“Their dæmon.” She murmured softly. “Viren, where is the dæmon?”

Viren’s eyes went even wider. “That’s not possible.” He said quickly.

The elf had no dæmon that he could see. Or maybe it was something small? Morgause used to like curling up inside his sleeve where she was all but hidden. Of course, splitting a person from their dæmon was possible, but it required an inordinate amount of energy, and the process was deeply traumatic to all involved. Most books that touched on the subject warned of the distress it caused to the one performing the task.

Then again…

There _was_ something he had once read, a long time ago, about Xadian Archmages. That some could learn to be physically distant from their dæmons without being cut apart, or suffering the usual deep, heart wrenching pain when the link between them was pulled to its very limit.

Whoever it was, they didn’t find what they were looking for among the shelves, and turned to walk across the room. There was still no dæmon in sight, although the cloak and robes may have hidden it from view.

Viren realised they were heading for the door, and he jumped to his feet, heart racing. “No, no, no!” he murmured, willing the elf to stay in his field of vision.

But they simply opened the door with a distant flick of their fingers, stepped into the corridor of light, and the door swung shut silently.

Viren groaned with disappointment, only realising that he had been gripping the mirror hard when he let go. He sighed with defeat, _desperate_ to know what this all meant.

“Who _are_ you?” he asked both empty rooms.

For a long time, he just gazed at the image in the frame, at the graceful, sweeping architecture, the myriad of unknown books, the soundless fire, and the place where the person had been standing.

“Well,” Morgause said in her smooth, soft voice as he rubbed his eyes again. “We know a bit more now than we did yesterday.

“But what does it _mean_?” Viren stressed, feeling anxiety mounting within him.

He _had_ to know.

XOXO

Afraid to miss anything, Viren spent the whole day in the cellar. He only broke his vigil to eat, drink and relieve himself; other than that his gaze was fixed on the mirror, waiting impatiently for the elf to come back to the room.

Eventually, at what must have been after nightfall, if not rapidly approaching it, they did.

As they walked across the room, they waved a hand and the candles by the window bloomed into life, casting more light about the room. They came to a halt in front of the fireplace, and stayed there, stock still for a long moment. Viren jumped to his feet, heart in his mouth.

Morgause gasped, and Viren jerked in the direction she was looking. Something fluttered at the very edge of the image in the mirror, before disappearing beyond Viren’s reach. Then, it moved across right in front of the mirror – the most beautiful butterfly he had ever seen. Its wings were the deep, inky blue of the sky just as the last rays of sunset slipped below the horizon, and spun with the same gossamer star light on the elf’s arms in a perfectly symmetrical pattern. Viren had to be reminded to draw breath, for he had been holding it. This _had_ to be the elf’s dæmon.

It was a Nova Wing butterfly – Viren had only ever read scraps of half remembered descriptions of the species, _never_ seen an illustration, much less one in person.

The dæmon flew past, dancing delicately on unseen air currents, and landed on the elf’s shoulder. Viren narrowed his eyes, trying to read the situation from the tiny pieces of context he had.

The elf turned and began to walk back towards the door, the butterfly on their shoulder, but paused in the middle of the room. Then, they turned their head to look directly at the mirror. Morgause started, and when the elf began to walk purposefully towards the mirror, Viren took a step back in slight alarm. The closer the elf got, the more he could feel their gaze boring into him.

The elf…a he, perhaps? They certainly _looked_ male, although, even without the extra layers of dripping mystery surrounding the situation, assumptions shouldn’t be made.

They came to stop right in front of the mirror, gaze languidly sliding from some far corner, before resting on Viren’s face. Around his neck, Morgause shivered with alarm. Viren himself leaned forward, squinting a little as he raised a hand, intent on making contact. There were more markings on the chest and under the eyes, further solidifying Viren’s theory that this was a Startouch elf. They were rare, even in Xadia.

“Careful,” she hissed in his ear, watching the butterfly dæmon on the other side flapping its wings slowly on the elf’s shoulder. The undersides were a very dark, almost grey colour, with curious eyes spots that looked like the stellar dust clouds in the night sky that were only visible with the help of a very powerful spy glass.

Viren didn’t heed her warning. The elf likewise lifted their left hand, mimicking his motions, looking Viren right in the eye-

They reached up to straighten the golden clasps on their cloak, staring into the distance as they did so. The butterfly dæmon crawled around to face the bookshelves, antennae waving with muted interest as they regarded something just out of sight of the mirror.

Morgause gasped.

“You can’t see me.” Viren mused to himself as the elf continued to straighten their clothes, and apparently regard their reflection. “On your side…” the elf turned away, satisfied with their appearance “…it’s just an ordinary mirror.”

XOXO

Well into the night, Viren was still sitting in his chair, watching and waiting.

Morgause had suggested that they call it a night, but Viren’s curiosity burned too brightly for him to even wish to consider the option. So she wound herself comfortably around his neck and dozed off while he sat in contemplative silence, eyes glued to the mirror.

The elf came back eventually. They read from a book, standing before the fireplace as they did so. The dæmon came in with them, but while Viren was scrutinising the elf, the butterfly had flitted away out of sight.

So many questions, the answers to which were likely to sprout yet more questions.

Viren was leaning forward, resisting the urge to join his dæmon in a nap, elbow on knee, hand on chin. He had to begrudgingly agree with Morgause, there was precious little to see, especially if the elf couldn’t see or interact with them.

The elf closed the book, and waved a hand to dim the candles as they placed it on the desk. Then they waved their hand again, and the fire from the wicks danced in a rapid, circular motion towards the hand. As they were walking towards the door, they slowed. And looked right at the mirror, seemingly, right through Viren.

The butterfly fluttered across in front of the mirror, and looked directly at him as well.

Viren jumped to his feet with a gasp, and Morgause lifted her head in equal alarm, hissing reflexively.

The elf held a hand out to the hearth, and used the same spell to suck the flames from the coals to their hand. Viren watched, transfixed, unable to look away. The elf began to change their expression, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was conveying, because they made a fist and extinguished the light entirely in the room.

The mirror went dark.

Viren felt a thrill running up and down his spine, even as he felt Morgause’s mounting distress, and the sensations she had of being dumped in a bucket of ice.

“Oh, _Viren_ ,” she groaned as he leaned forward, trying to see beyond his own reflection in the blackness. “Please, Viren! Be _careful_. Something’s not _right_ …”

A pale, four fingered hand rose out of the darkness, a beautiful butterfly sitting on its wrist, and pressed against the other side of the glass.

Viren started and stepped back, leaning away from the mirror. He felt his own fear rising in his chest as Morgause slithered into his collar to hide from the celestial dæmon.

The light came back to the room, and the elf was very definitely staring at Viren with just as much intrigue as Viren had in them.

Viren took a deep breath, sighing on the exhalation. “Who are you?”

The elf didn’t speak. They had a very charming, enigmatic smile. The dæmon flitted to their shoulder, antennae twitching rapidly, and the elf tilted their head to look into the corner of the room Viren was standing in. He turned to follow the gaze, and saw that the elf was eyeing his staff with great interest.

Viren turned back with a frown, ignoring both his fluttering heart and his dæmon’s distress.

The elf looked…satisfied?

They turned away from the mirror, and went towards the door.

“What is it?” Viren asked uselessly. “Where are you _going_?” he found himself gripping the edges of the mirror frame again.

He didn’t have to wait long this time; soon the elf was back with a cloth covered table, and their dæmon conspicuously absent. While they were collecting something from the far side of the room, Viren jumped as the butterfly floated across the mirror again. He had the unsettling feeling that it was looking right through him, and Morgause. She was trembling against his neck, her curiosity warring with anxiety, and slowly succumbing to her fear.

The elf came back to the mirror, and the butterfly landed on their bicep. They put a small chest onto the table, and rearranged the furniture so that Viren would have the best view of what they were about to do next. From within the chest came a round, rocky geode, a square of some type of cloth, golden thread, a pestle and mortar, an exquisite fluted goblet patterned with stylised, geometric stars, and finally a Xadian dagger.

Viren frowned at this last item, and Morgause trembled against his neck.

The elf placed the blade on the table, and gestured at the collection of items, gaze never wavering from Viren’s face. The enigmatic smile was back.

Speaking out loud, he said, “You want me to find these items…I can do that.”

The elf’s smile changed imperceptibly. Viren wasn’t sure in what way, but Morgause stilled against him.

“What do you suppose…” she asked, voice so quiet he almost didn’t catch it. “…It is that they want?”

Viren tilted his head to look at her, and she raised her head to look at him, jewel bright eyes glowing in the darkness. He turned away from the mirror, towards his own door.

“I imagine, we shall find out soon.”

Viren had to go scraping around the basement, but he found the right items he needed for whatever they were about to do. He got a table set up, arranged the tools on a tray, and carried it back to the room. The elf was still waiting, a kind of pleasant and knowing smile on their face. Morgause thought it was far more calculating than Viren, but they tacitly agreed not to argue the point right now. His dæmon was anxious, but she was as curious as Viren was.

The first thing he was silently instructed to do was stitch a specific symbol into the piece of cloth – a rune Viren had never come across in any of his books or scrolls. Once it was completed, the elf hung their cloth in the air so that they could draw the rune with their hands. It was done so quickly, and Viren was looking at the elf’s face, that he didn’t see it, but Morgause later insisted that the elf had added a line to the symbol that they drew.

With the spell complete, purple light licked at the mirror, and the thread in Viren’s hands glowed for a moment with magery. Viren hesitated for a moment, feeling Morgause’s misgivings rise. He lifted a hand and rubbed her head reassuringly, silently comforting and soothing her anxieties as he watched for the next step.

This elf had to be a powerful Archmage; they cast spells and manipulated objects without touching them, like the geode which hovered in the air and was wrapped around by the stitched cloth. They cracked it in half with a simple, seemingly inconsequential gesture of their hand.

Hoping it would have the same effect, Viren gently laid his cloth over the rock and hit it with the pestle. It split in half, and he took one piece back to face the mirror, where the elf began to grind the contents of the geode, as though it were a mortar itself.

Viren couldn’t deny, to Morgause or even himself now, that the expression on the person’s face was indeed calculating and…was that anticipation? Eagerness tempered by… _something_. Then Viren noticed that the butterfly dæmon was nowhere to be seen at that moment, and he internally winced away from Morgause’s admonishment – he needed to think, to _notice_ and strategize rapidly, and he was doing a poor job in her opinion.

The ground up crystals were poured into the goblet, and the elf raised a toast to him. Viren frowned, doing as he was instructed, but beginning to bristle. The goblets both steamed, giving off a distinct blue vapour.

“You expect me to drink this?” he questioned out loud, still unsure if the elf could actually hear him on their side.

The answer was for the elf to down the contents of the goblet, and show him an empty vessel.

Morgause held her breath as Viren swilled the potion around dubiously, before bringing it to his lips.

“Well?” she asked, voice tight with anxiety.

Viren hummed to himself. Rich and complex…and distinctly metallic. “Surprisingly, not terrible.”

“Remember what they say about power.” Morgause said softly, tucking herself inside his collar.

Being drunk on power would lead to one making mistakes, as Viren’s mentor had told him more than once. He bowed his head to his dæmon in acknowledgement.

Once the goblet was placed on the table, the elf lifted the dagger. Viren went to pick up the blade he had collected, and mirrored the elf’s stance, holding the edge of the sharp metal to his hand. Morgause went completely still.

Her thoughts were like a shaft of light, cutting through the dimness of the room.

Viren was preparing to take part in a blood ritual, one of the things that even Dark magic warned against. Blood was life giving, an intrinsic part of a functioning organism – Xadian blood had many useful properties and applications as a result. But using his own blood, to seal some kind of pact when he knew nothing about the other mage…he couldn’t even be certain this _was_ a Startouch elf.

Lifting his gaze to the elf’s, running a hand over his dæmon’s head, Viren demanded, “Why should I trust you? I don’t even know who…I don’t even know _what_ you are.”

The elf smiled cryptically and gestured with their dagger.

Viren sighed and thrust his own into the table. “I need time to think.”

Morgause breathed a sigh of relief.

As he pushed the door open, Viren grabbed his staff. He had the unsettling feeling that the elf’s gaze had a physical presence, and although he had left the mirror’s line of sight, the force of that gaze was boring into the back of Viren’s head.

It followed him all the way outside to one of the castle balconies, lingering in the warm sunset as he contemplated the situation. Tracing his thumb across the palm of his left hand, wondering if in this instance, the end would justify the means. Morgause pulled him from his reverie with a soft hiss, and he looked up to see one of the messenger crows flying back to the keep.

“It’s been a while.” She murmured, lifting her head up so that her tongue flicked against his ear. “Perhaps the other kingdoms have answered your letters.”

“We shall see.” Viren replied. Now that he was out in the open air, away from the magnetic pull of the mirror and the elf beyond it, what he had been intending to do was seeming less and less advisable.

And as it turned out, each of the other kingdoms had agreed to his call for a summit, once he got to the post office. Morgause was still laughing at his lack of self-awareness all the way down to the secret basement, that he had been irritated at not being informed of the letters arrival, when he had been holed up in his little dark magic pit for well over a full day now. Viren gave his dæmon a stern look before they descended the last set of stairs, and she obligingly curled up around his neck, quietly snickering into his collar. Viren sighed heavily and rolled his eyes; he was quite sure that the entire castle would be aware of his being incapacitated in the bathroom for an entire day by the end of the week.

“So,” Viren said, as he picked up the sheet he had been using to cover the mirror for the last few months. “We are in agreement?”

“Yes.” Morgause said, slowly blinking her eyes at him. “I think…this should be used as a last resort.”

Inside the room, the elf was still waiting patiently. They smiled at him, and lifted the dagger to their hand. Yes, Morgause was right. That was definitely a shrewd, calculating look in the elf’s eyes.

Viren looked back at the dagger on the table, before meeting the elf’s eyes.

The Nova Wing butterfly dæmon fluttered into view, and settled on their person’s shoulder. Morgause lifted her head in response, meeting some unspoken challenge from the other dæmon that Viren couldn’t begin to fathom.

No, Morgause was right. This did not seem worth the risk, making some blood pact with someone whose name and motives he did not know. A Startouch elf’s magic could be a great asset, but if Viren had the backing of the rest of the Pentarchy, it wouldn’t be necessary.

As he put the shroud over the mirror, he had just enough time to see the surprise and dismay registering on the elf’s face before it was covered up.

Viren left everything where it was, and went back to his rooms. He sat down in an armchair before the fire, with a glass of wine, and sighed heavily to himself.

“I think,” Morgause murmured, “that you made the right choice today.”

Viren raised his glass to her, mimicking the way the elf had done so, giving his dæmon a lopsided smile, and they both laughed.

XOXO

Viren ducked into the room, heart heavy with the weight of the options spread before him. He set his staff aside, and went to stand before the table, with all the items still scattered across the work surface, just as he had left them.

Morgause lifted her head, and nuzzled against his jaw comfortingly. She had misgivings, but she was resigned to this course of action. Given Opeli’s reaction to their return, what other choice did they really have to keep working, to keep making a difference.

Lifting a hand to stroke his dæmon, Viren turned to the mirror. He looked at his hand, thinking about what he was about to do.

Out loud, trying to convince himself as much as Morgause, Viren said, “I have nothing left to lose.”

He drew the sheet back, and the light of that other place filled the room. He had to stand and wait for what felt an age, his dæmon’s jittery nerves slowly affecting him more and more. Eventually, as the elf had done so many times before, they entered and closed the door with a wave of their hand. And as they crossed the room, they stilled, and turned to look at the mirror. The butterfly on their shoulder waved its wings in recognition.

Viren hefted the blade in his hands, holding it across his palm. “I’m ready,” he told himself as much as he told the elf.

This earned him a charming, enigmatic smile as they stepped up to the table, and lifted their own dagger. A swift slice across the palm, and drops of blood trickled into the bowl. Purple flames leapt briefly from the container, accompanied by a momentary cloud of vapour. Viren steeled himself, holding his breath as Morgause went completely still against him.

He cut his hand, and let it bleed into the bowl on his table. The concoction reacted in the same way, and the elf smiled. Then, they opened their mouth – and Morgause gasped loudly, recoiling from the sight before them.

It was a creature, a caterpillar, and it crawled out of the elf’s mouth, onto their fingers. It was delicately dropped into the bowl, which emitted a lurid red light; Viren’s own bowl shone with the same glow, and then the caterpillar was there, solidly, on this side of the mirror. It scuttled in a graceful circle, before coming to rest looking up at Viren.

Morbidly curious, Viren reached out a hand to pick up the creature, whatever it was, and lifted it up to better see its strange markings and intriguing colours. He had never seen nor read about anything of its kind before.

It moved, and slipped under the hem of his sleeve before he could do anything. The creeping sensations had his blood crawling in his veins, and Viren exhaled sharply. Morgause shrieked in alarm as the thing rapidly made its way up Viren’s arm, and towards his neck. She slithered quickly out of the way, ramming herself down the other sleeve in her bid to escape, to stay well away from the caterpillar.

It crawled up the back of his neck, and came to settle on the rim of his ear, like some grotesque, squirming piece of jewellery. Once it was settled there, a deep, baritone voice spoke into his ear, as though someone were stood right behind him.

“Speak.”

Viren spun around violently, jolting his dæmon in her hiding place and giving himself a crick in the neck.

Other than the mirror, the room was completely empty.

Morgause shivered, and Viren felt the weight of his decision, of what he had just done, and briefly wondered just what he had let himself in for.

“I-” he stammered.

What was there to say?

“Speak, so I may hear you.” The voice said.

Viren glanced to the side where the caterpillar was, and put two and two together. Breathing hard, he turned to the mirror, and looked the elf in the eye.

“Who- who are you?” he asked, prompted by Morgause’s thoughts: they _needed_ to find out as much information as possible before they proceeded any further with this. Such powerful magic – there _had_ to be some reference to them, to him, _somewhere_.

He closed his eyes, breathing a sigh, like he was savouring this moment. “Ah. How _long_ I’ve waited, to hear the sound of another voice.”

Viren glanced towards the caterpillar again. It must be the conduit between them – bound to him and probably him alone, if the use of his blood was anything to go by.

“How may I serve you?”

Morgause peaked out of the collar, and ducked again with a shiver when she saw the smile on the elf’s face. It had Viren recoiling as well. He had to confess to himself, he was most likely in over his head.

Viren drew himself up to his full height, calculating all of his options.

“Who are you?” he demanded forcefully, with an authority he didn’t truly believe he had.

The elf smiled. “My name would mean nothing to you.”

Viren sighed with exasperation as he leaned forward and tested his field of vision for the room beyond the mirror. “ _Where_ are you?” Morgause plucked up the courage to peak out of his collar again, and as the conversation continued, she slowly slithered back to her accustomed place around his neck, head tucked under the ear that didn’t have a strange caterpillar sitting on it.

This question finally broke the calm and controlled façade. The elf looked down for a moment, almost confused, if Viren didn’t know any better. “I…don’t know.”

Viren scowled. “Don’t lie to me.”

There was that smile again. “I’m not lying. I _never_ lie.”

Morgause’s thoughts cautioned him; she didn’t think that open smile was completely honest.

With a sigh, Viren reached for a clean cloth to start bandaging the wound on his hand. “I found this mirror in the lair of the Dragon King. This mirror _meant_ something to him. _You_ meant something to him.” He tried to be calm and cool in his manner, but he noted with displeasure the accusatory tone in his own voice.

The butterfly dæmon fluttered, like she was agitated about something. The elf just smiled blandly and pleasantly.

“Perhaps.”

He brought his hands together, a gesture Viren had seen many times before now.

“Tell me what you need, and I will help you.” He said simply.

Morgause tightened her grip on her human. It _couldn’t_ be that simple…

…could it?

“I need your name,” Viren said emphatically.

He bowed his head, and pulled back his hood, revealing white hair and pronged horns. He was definitely a Startouch elf. Something like resignation crossed his face, as he spoke.

“Aaravos.” He lifted a hand and gently touched his dæmon, sitting on his shoulder. “Hecate.”

Satisfied to have a straight answer finally, Viren reached up to his ear without taking his eyes away from this Aaravos, and pulled until the caterpillar was forced to let him go. He dropped the wriggling thing into a glass bottle from his pocket, and stoppered it firmly. He placed the bottle on the table, and made his stately way out of the room without deigning to look around to see the elf’s reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent ages trying to dream up something spectacular for this Archmage of all types of magic. A couple of the books I have been using to help pick out dæmon forms state of the butterfly as a spirit guide and/or power animal: you are charismatic, people are drawn to you, you are vibrant and full of life; butterfly in the Medicine tradition is about Transformation, and the planning and execution of a project is reflected in the life stages of the butterfly (egg, larva, pupa, butterfly). So I looked at Aaravos, with the precious little context we have so far, and thought: PERFECT <3 
> 
> Kudos to anyone who gets the reference to her name xD
> 
> And my fake spoiler for Season 4 is that Avizandum put Aaravos into his mirror pocket dimension with the subtle knife.


	11. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Episode 3: Struggling with his grief, Ethari is shocked to discover Rayla has come back to the Silvergrove. Despite his surprise at her return, and her travelling companions, he does what he can help her on the next leg of her journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have mentioned in a note on my other story: with lockdown restrictions easing where I am, I’ve been bubbled with extended family and assisting with child minding duties. This AU fic is easier to write for more consistently, but will probably see similar delays in the near future. There are a few chapters already drafted, some of which have been proofread, and I’m hoping that will tide everything over should I get bogged down with kids’ patrol xD I am also steadily making my way through the suggestions from the comments – thank you to everyone for their input so far!

Ethari worked, as he had done every day for the last three weeks. It had initially been a distraction, what he always did when Runaan was gone, like tidying up after him and making sure everything was ready for when he returned.

But he never would.

Not this time.

Working kept Ethari busy, and numbed his mind to his shattered heart. Kamaria usually trotted around the workshop with him, fetching the tools she could carry in her mouth, and fussing over the state of the floorboards. The doe dæmon was curled up instead, sitting on Ayla’s favourite blanket. It still smelled like the three eyed night fox, and though every waft of her scent put another splinter in their heart, Kamaria couldn’t bring herself to abandon the lingering comfort it brought.

Ethari glanced at her, trying not to think of Ayla or Runaan. His dæmon was pale and silvery, the darker marks on her back a mottled mossy green; her coat was spun with gossamer stars. Ayla was a three eyed night fox – dark, with jewel bright eyes and a smattering of similar pattens on her fur down her spine. Runaan used to say that Ethari was the full moon, and he was the dark, and their dæmons reflected this.

It almost hurt even more to think about Rayla. Still alive, the Moon only knew where, and he’d never see her again, either. The girl he had helped to raise, who he couldn’t have loved any more than if she had been his own flesh and blood.

Kamaria lifted her head, eyes downcast and ears flicking in her elf’s direction as the emotions welled up inside Ethari. He paused for a moment, mastering himself, before he picked up his hammer and went back to the sword he was finishing.

There was work to do. Commissions to complete. Food to cook. A life to keep living, even if it felt hollow and empty now.

Ethari had known what he was letting himself in for when he married the most talented and promising assassin of their generation. That didn’t stop it from hurting, or make the pain any easier to bear.

The day wore on, following the same routine they had been keeping to since that awful day. Letting his mind mull over the designs he had for a new bow someone from the Feywood had asked for, Ethari turned the sword in his hands over, checking the surface for any imperfections he may have missed during the tempering process.

His heart gave a leap, and he stood up, knocking the stool over in his haste. The jolt of his shock and the sound of the furniture made Kamaria skitter to her feet in alarm. “Ethari! Ethari, what is it?” she cried softly, heart hammering just as painfully as his own.

In the reflection of the blade’s sharp, clear edge, was Rayla’s face. She looked pale and haggard, Cornix balanced on her horn with hunched shoulders and a tense, wary look to him. She was there, she was really there; crouched on the floor in front of the open doors. Except that when her lips moved he couldn’t hear her voice, and another splinter dug itself into his heart.

He hurt, because he had lost the one he loved, because Rayla was responsible, whether directly or indirectly, for Runaan’s death. But he wanted nothing more in that moment than to hold Rayla in his arms and never let her go.

Kamaria hesitantly crept forward, braced her front feet on the toppled stool, and looked into the reflection for herself. She gasped, and spun round, staring at the place where Rayla stood, mouth still hanging open in shock.

Rayla was clearly distraught; her expression was angry and hurt as she said something, and Ethari closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her, the emotions he had been managing to keep in check suddenly bursting forth, threatening to drown him.

Kamaria backed up a few paces, ears flattened and tail between her legs, shaking with her shared grief. “Oh Rayla…” she breathed, fighting back tears.

Ethari opened his eyes and looked into the reflection again. Words came to his tongue, unbidden before he could stop himself. He didn’t expect her to hear him, though she reacted as though she did – probably reading his lips in the reflection, the way Runaan had tried to drill into her.

“Rayla.” He couldn’t maintain eye contact, it hurt too much. He cast his gaze down, but held the sword in place so he knew she could still understand him, know he was talking to her, _acknowledging_ her existence. “Before you left, I told Runaan that you were too goodhearted for the work of an assassin.” They had argued the point, on and off over the years, but more fiercely that night as he prepared for the mission. She had been sick to her heart at her parents’ betrayal, and had always been desperate to prove herself in Runaan’s eyes, to make him proud of her. Ethari was afraid it was a recipe for disaster, that he would lose Rayla as a result. Only, he had lost Runaan…

Turning to look her full in the face again, he went on, “So I know you did not betray them out of malice. But that doesn’t matter…” he gripped the sword tighter, unable to hold it steady and level anymore. Just like his damn emotions. He slammed the weapon down onto the work surface, his heart cracking under the pressure. “They’re _gone_. _He’s_ gone. Because you abandoned them.”

Ethari had to leave the room, _quickly_ , before he burst into tears. Even though he knew she would not be able to see, she could read his posture, and he didn’t want to cry in her presence. Kamaria bounded after him as he walked to the living room, shoulders tense and fists clenched. He hoped she didn’t follow – for the first time since Runaan’s flower sank, he desperately wanted to be alone.

Once in the living room, Ethari collapsed onto the couch and put his head in his hands, unable to keep the sobs at bay any longer. Kamaria jumped onto the cushions beside him and nuzzled the side of his face gently, whispering comfort and reassurances. He leaned against her heavily, using the soft contact to ground himself.

Eventually, he turned his tear stained face to his dæmon. “She came back.” He said simply, still shocked.

“She came a long way on her own.” Kamaria said evenly, settling back on the couch and tucking her legs under neatly.

Ethari looked down at his hands, turning them over as he tried to sort the jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings out in his mind.

“What could have _possibly_ happened?” he asked her uselessly. “I…I don’t understand.”

Kamaria’s gentle, liquid gaze became as hard as adamant. “We still don’t know what happened at the Spire.”

All evidences pointed to the Guard abandoning their post, their duty. Kamaria refused to except that – she had argued with them over it so many times. She had been too shell shocked at Runaan’s death to pass judgement on Rayla’s actions.

“Ethari…” she murmured, softening again. “She’s not a child anymore. But she’s not yet an adult. She still needs us.” Her heart ached to see Rayla again, to touch Cornix and let them both know they were still loved, still valued and wanted. Still family.

Ethari put a hand over his heart, and with the other gripped the necklace around his neck. He felt the same yearning. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to break the Ghosting spell, for any length of time. But Kamaria was right. And despite the precepts of Moonshadow society, Ethari did not wish to shun Rayla. He blamed her actions for the death of his husband, but he did not blame her; whatever had happened, it had not been done with a deliberate intent to cause harm.

They came to a tacit agreement, and Ethari spent more time calming himself, letting the worst of the emotional deluge pass so that he would be dry eyed and steady for Rayla, if he could find her again. He hoped she hadn’t gone too far, and mentally ran through the list of her usual haunts to check. When he was ready, Ethari slowly stood up, and stroked his dæmon’s head tenderly, heaving a great sigh. She leaned up into his hand, humming softly. As he walked towards the front door, Ethari picked up a mirror from a drawer in the sideboard, just in case.

As they walked down the outside stairs, Kamaria pricked her ears, and turned towards the pond. “Look.” She murmured.

Ethari turned his head. Ripples danced on the surface of the water, originating from impacts that kept occurring near the one flower that remained afloat. The reflections in the water were distorted, but definitely there. He was relieved that she hadn’t gone far.

Pausing for a moment to collect himself, Ethari reached a hand out to stroke Kamaria’s head again for strength, and they walked together to the pond. Something in the doe baulked, but she kept walking; they hadn’t stood here since the flower sank, it was too painful. But Rayla and Cornix needed them, so she kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Ethari slowed, trying to gauge where Rayla was standing, wanting to be near her, to see her again, and if they could breach the banishing spell, hold her again. Following the trajectory of the splashes, he came up on her left flank. He tried to keep his expression even keeled, but he could see the deep pain in his own face as the ripples smoothed out on the water’s surface, and his heart ached when Rayla started at the sight of him. She wore that look she used to when she was little and Runaan told her that he was disappointed in her. It drove another splinter into Ethari’s heart. Cornix was perched on the edge of the pond, head down and dejected.

Gathering the strength and focus he needed, leaning on Kamaria for support, Ethari held a hand out to Rayla, looking at the space in the air beside him where he knew she was standing, only inches away and yet so far beyond reach.

“Take m’hand.” He murmured, drawing on his magic, hoping it would work and not knowing for sure if it would.

Something gripped his fingers, and he pulled her through the shield, breaking through the illusion that hid the village. As the spell rippled outward, Rayla came into view, her hands in his real and solid. She looked tense and fragile, like she might break from the merest pressure.

Ethari exhaled with relief, bowing his head for a moment. “Ahh, _there_ y’are.”

Rayla’s expression was one of pure joy. It brought back so many wonderful, warm memories, to see her beautiful bright eyes and her wide smile – to _hold_ her again. She fell forward and flung her arms around him, holding him tight. Ethari wrapped her up in his embrace and leaned his cheek against her horn in a sign of deep affection.

Cornix flapped his wings in agitation, like he was about to take off. “Kamaria…” he croaked, voice cracking with emotion. When she approached, he flew to her and nuzzled into her neck; the doe dæmon turned her head to nuzzle back and licked his feathers, silently conveying all the love they still felt for him and Rayla.

“Y’know, I was never as strong as the others,” Ethari said gently, drawing back enough to be able to look at Rayla fully. Her face fell as he took her hands, and his heart ached again. Leaning down a little to catch her gaze, he went on, “This’ll only break the spell for a moment, but I couldn’t _bear_ to let you leave without seein’ ye one last time.” He smiled at her again. And then, the emotions reared up inside him, and he couldn’t help the next words that tumbled from his mouth. “But I don’t _understand_ , Rayla. How could y’abandon them?”

Cornix shivered on Kamaria’s shoulders and folded in on himself. The doe turned to look at him slowly with those big, luminous eyes, and he quailed under her gaze. Rayla looked just as guilt-ridden as her dæmon as she lowered her gaze, fingers gripping Ethari’s hands reflexively.

“I _failed_ them. It was _my_ fault we were discovered,” she shook her head and lifted her face to look Ethari in the eye. “But I _didn’t_ run away.” She said emphatically. Then, her face split into a smile as she went on, “Ethari, we found somethin’. Callum,” she turned around, and Ethari noticed for the first time with some surprise that Rayla had a travelling companion, “show him.”

Ethari blinked as he beheld the person who smiled sheepishly and marched forward awkwardly. He couldn’t be much older than Rayla, with dark hair and…were those _twigs_? Tied to the sides of his head? Kamaria looked slowly from him to Ethari, before her gaze slid to Cornix, who was staring at the lad with a flat look to match his elf’s.

Congenital hornlessness was a thing, albeit incredibly rare… But his ears, strategically hidden under his messy hair, were very short, and appeared to be rounded. That, and Kamaria looked back at him, noticing the number of digits on his hands. How Rayla had come to be travelling with a human, he had no idea. The lad’s dæmon was perched on his shoulder, in the form of some kind of dawn coloured, sparkling dove, and looking about as impressed by his next move as Cornix and Rayla.

Closing his eyes and placing a hand on his heart, the human said, in a very odd accent, “I’m Rayla’s Earthblood elf friend.” He sank into a deep, apparently formal bow. “Trees to meet you.”

Kamaria lowered her head, fighting to contain laughter. He seemed completely harmless, and Ethari felt the first prickle of mischief in a long while. He smiled, and fell into a bow of his own, earning him a smile from the human and a scowl from Rayla.

“Tress to meet you, too.”

Rayla tugged on his arm, and he turned to look at her. “Don’t humour him.”

Ethari glanced back at the boy as he turned around to pick something up behind him. He was still puzzled about what was going on, and waited with wide eyed confusion for them to offer some answers in the little time they had.

The lad scooped up a bundle and brought it round to show Ethari. A little dragonling, with pale blue scales, a fluffy mane, and big sky-blue eyes chirruped from his arms.

“We found the Dragon Prince.” Rayla told him. “The egg wasn’t destroyed.”

Ethari’s heart jumped again, but this time for sheer undiluted, uncomplicated joy. He smiled gently, folding his fist and holding it out to the wee cutie, the way he had once been instructed to greet baby dragons. Kamaria danced on the spot, so much so that Cornix croaked and took off to flap his way up to his usual perch on Rayla’s horn.

“Rayla!” Kamaria spun in a tight circle on the spot. “Cornix! _How_ did you ever-?!” she couldn’t finish, she was too shocked by this news.

Cornix cawed and ruffled his feathers, exchanging a long look with the dove on the boy’s shoulder that was full of hidden meaning beyond Ethari’s comprehension. “It’s…such a long story.” The crow said heavily.

The dragonling sniffed at Ethari’s hand as Rayla explained, “I knew that if we could get him home to his mother, there could be peace.” The dragon licked Ethari’s knuckles with a big smile.

“It’s a miracle! I can’t believe it!” But even as he spoke, a shadow fell over Ethari’s mind. “But Rayla, you need to know. The Dragon Queen is dyin’.” He looked at her, tears threatening to well up again. “Since the death of her mate, she’s fallen very ill.”

Both the teen’s faces fell, and their dæmons shuffled restlessly, preparing for the next long slog of their journey.

“We have to get to her,” Rayla insisted. “It’s the only way!”

She looked so much like her parents in that moment: so determined, so fierce, so resolute. She had made it this far with the young Dragon Prince, without guidance or protection from an adult. Oh, how she had grown up so quickly when Ethari wasn’t looking…

If anyone could see the dragonling home safely, it was his dear Rayla.

Thinking quickly, knowing the window they had was quickly vanishing, Ethari brought his hand to his mouth and gave one, short whistle. The mounts that were always kept at the ready for an emergency at the stables came to his call, a Shadowpaw and a Moonstrider. They paced over to the group, the Shadowpaw nuzzling into Ethari’s arms affectionately.

“You can ride faster than you can walk.” He might be in trouble for this later, but that seemed rather meaningless in the grand scheme of things now. Rayla’s needs were more important.

The human lad quickly got into a disagreement with the Moonstrider, getting knocked off his feet as the mount took an interest in his disguise and tried to chew off one of the ‘horns’. His dæmon fluttered back to his shoulder and fluffed herself up primly as Cornix flapped down to sit beside the Dragon Prince.

“I _told_ you it was a terrible disguise.” She sniped at her human, and the boy just shook his head at her. She then fluttered in agitation as Kamaria stepped closer and lowered her head to get a better look at the dæmon.

“My name is Kamaria.” She said gently, glancing at Cornix briefly before drawing herself up and looking at the dove again. “It’s a pleasure to meet Rayla’s travellin’ companions.”

The dove stood stock still for a few moments, her chest fluttering rapidly. “I’m Cerys.” She piped up, in a small voice. “This idiot is my Callum.” Her human looked like he was about to speak, but the Moonstrider went for his antlers again, prompting Cornix to shriek and fly at her in retaliation and make the mount back up.

Ethari looked at Rayla, who was watching the exchange with a complicated smile. “I’ll send a message to the Dragon Queen.” He promised her. Turning to look at the dragonling, he went on, “If she knows her little one still lives, perhaps she’ll hold on.”

Callum stood up, appraising the Moonstrider as said little one crawled onto his shoulders and peeked up over the top of his head. Kamaria turned and paced back to Ethari, pausing to lick Cornix’s wings affectionately as she went, and the crow flapped with her back to their elves.

With a heavy heart, Ethari pulled the Shadowpaw closer and handed the reins to Rayla. Her expression probably mirrored his own, as she stepped up to the saddle and lithely jumped up onto the mount’s back. They both turned to look at Callum as he struggled to do the same, almost falling out of the saddle as soon as he had found his perch. It passed through Kamaria’s mind, and she shared it with Ethari, that he seemed to be a nice lad. They were, by and large, good judges of character, and as they swiftly compared mental notes, neither of them felt a drop of malice from this human. Rayla may be young, naïve and inexperience, but she was not stupid; she wouldn’t have teamed up with a human unless absolutely necessary, and would never have brought him to the Silvergrove unless she was _absolutely_ sure he posed no threat.

“Ethari?”

He shook himself from the trail of thought to look up at Rayla.

“Can I ever come home again?”

Another splinter lodged itself in his heart, deeper than ever.

Unable to hold her gaze, he said, “I don’t know.” How could he even begin to piece together a case to take to the Council? He knew Rayla as intimately as he knew the back of his own hands, and he knew she would not have gone against Runaan’s orders without just cause. Who knows what could have happened to the egg if she had been caught as well?

Desperately wanting to give her a token of his love, to remember him by, and maybe even offer her some protection if she needed it in the future, Ethari decided to give her the pendant he wore around his neck. He deftly lifted it over his horns and looped it around Rayla’s neck; her face was pensive as she lifted it closer for examination, remembering that Runaan had worn one just like it.

“It’s a real moon opal.” He told her, reaching out to stroke his dæmon’s head as she leaned against his hip, burying her face in his tunic as she quivered with the impending heartache. The spell would not be held at bay forever. And neither of them were ready to bid Rayla farewell. “When I gave its match to Runaan, I told him…‘my love will be with you even when the moon is not’.”

Rayla gripped the necklace tightly, her face calm and sad; Cornix jittered on her shoulder, betraying her true feelings, and Ethari noted the way the dove dæmon behind him cooed and fluttered her wings with obvious concern for them.

Ethari could feel his charm failing. “Goodbye, Rayla.”

It felt so inadequate. He hoped she knew he still loved her, that he had conveyed he always would, and that he trusted her to do the right thing by their people and by Xadia.

The magic settled again, and once the haze had cleared, Rayla was gone from his sight, even though he knew she was there only inches away.

Ethari and Kamaria watched as the two mounts loped away across the green. His dæmon lowered her head with a soft gasp, legs shaking with the effort it took to shoulder the knowledge they now had, and the emotions attached to them. Ethari stroked her head lovingly, and turned away back towards the house before they were completely gone from sight. Thinking about what he needed to write down to get the Storm Spire to pay attention to his news, being _practical_ , eased the tight knot of grief that was rising in Ethari’s chest once more. It felt like losing Rayla all over again.

As he passed the pond, he paused to look at the heartbloom flower that still floated on its surface. The jewel pulsed brightly in time with Rayla’s heartbeat; still alive, still fighting, still here in the world with him even if he couldn’t see or hold her. He tried not to think of Runaan’s own flower, at the bottom of the pond, dull and lifeless like the rest.

Kamaria bumped her head against his hip, and he held her close as they walked back to the house.

There was still work to do. Help he could give Rayla. Something calm and practical that would make the world of difference for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Insert the meme of the fandom dunking Ethari into the pond whilst screaming LOOK AT THE FLOWER!*
> 
> Just saying guys, if we don’t get present day Ruthari-centric scenes from the series soon, we should stage a revolt. I’m dying to see this particular relationship explored in greater depth <3 I love this show and its diversity/inclusivity, but if I have one big complaint so far, it’s that all the gay kisses have so far only happened in flash backs. I have high hopes for Janaya being overt and explored in Season 4, but I really want to see more Ruthari as well.


	12. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Season 1: Rayla and Cornix are learning to walk. Runaan has to resist the urge to intervene and correct her foot work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a request for Lain and Tiadrin, and since we’ve had little Callum I thought, why not baby Rayla too? :)

Runaan watched with fascination as the toddler before him reached out to grab the table leg, and heaved herself up with a frown of concentration. Her dæmon bumbled around her feet, as ungainly and uncoordinated as his elf, and just as snappish if anyone dared to interfere with them.

Rayla let go, wobbled for a few moments, and fell over backwards onto the nest of blankets Lain had made for her. She squawked with exasperation, and tried again. She was every bit as stubborn and determined as her mother – and as heedless of injury as her father. It made Runaan smile.

Ayla prowled around the periphery, tail thrashing as she went. The instinct was to reach out and support, to guide and hone those fine motor skills. Rayla shrieked any time someone interfered with her attempts to walk, and Cornix had angrily gummed on Ayla’s nose in retaliation when she tried to help him up after the umpteenth time he had fallen over. His tiny weasel claws hadn’t done any damage, but his gaze (and his squawks) had been absolutely furious.

So here they both were, sitting and watching while the little girl and her dæmon doggedly worked to learn how to walk, itching to reach out and help but understanding that they needed to do this on their own.

“What’s this?” Ethari asked with a warm smile as he walked into the room and saw them. “Is someone feelin’ broody?”

Ayla batted her emerald eyes at Kamaria as the doe dæmon trotted over and rubbed her face against the night fox’s brow, over her closed third eye. Runaan admired their dæmons side by side for a moment as Kamaria tucked herself up against Ayla’s side; soft, silvery hair against midnight black fur, both strung with beads of starlight. His dæmon wrapped her long tail around her companion, and settled her muzzle on top of Kamaria’s nose.

Runaan gave his husband a rueful smile as he sat down beside him, and they both watched Rayla tumble backwards with another shriek of frustration.

“Dear me,” Ethari’s brow creased with concern.

Runaan lifted an eyebrow as he moved forward to help. “She won’t thank you for that.”

Naturally, Rayla threw a tantrum when Ethari insisted on helping her, and both adults watched on in quiet amusement when Cornix turned into a little night fox cub and snapped and snarled as best as his little gums would allow at Ethari.

Ayla opened her third eye and regarded the little dæmon with amusement before going back to her doze.

“I did warn you.” Runaan said conversationally as his husband sat back down beside him, bemused. “And _I’m_ the broody one?”

“I s’pose I could have seen that one comin’. I’m told Tiadrin was just as bad at that age.”

“Hey,”

They both looked up to see Lain leaning casually over the back of the sofa, his expression bright with amusement. Fidella jumped up gracefully to sit by his elbow, and started grooming her pale grey fur, licking the symmetrical, darker lines on her flank that jutted backwards along her sides before curving back at an angle over her hips, ears always cocked towards Rayla.

“You two jokers harrasin’ m’daughter?”

“Merely ensuring that she does not smack her head against anything as she practises her footwork.” Runaan said primly, turning back to the toddler. He didn’t turn his head, but his dæmon cracked an eye open and saw Ethari and Lain exchanging fond looks.

“She’s barely fifteen months old, Runaan. She’s not old enough to have a grasp of the concept of _footwork_.” Lain reminded him as he scratched his fox dæmon’s ears.

“She will, soon enough.” Runaan retorted.

Ethari rolled his eyes, and watched Rayla instead of get in the middle of the brewing argument.

“Oh? Are you trainin’ her to be a warrior while we’re not lookin’?”

“If this girl does not grow up to be the fiercest and most accomplished warrior of her generation, I will be very much surprised.”

“That’s not the point, Runaan. Tiadrin’ll kill you if you start teachin’ her first.”

“Oh, she can _try_.” Runaan said, his smile and threat both thinly vailed.

Kamaria didn’t lift her head from the floor as she said evenly, “Boys,” she blinked her big, liquid eyes, like two patches of moss under moonlight. “Behave.”

Lain pointed at Runaan. “ _He_ started it.”

“And I will finish it.” Runaan said simply.

“This is _my_ house-”

“Actually, I believe it belongs to _Tiadrin’s_ family.” Runaan looked at him finally over his shoulder, meeting the challenge in Lain’s grin.

“You wanna go, sell sword?” Lain pretended to spit out the words like they were poison, but the laughter in his eyes belied his threat.

Fidella stood up and bristled theatrically; Ayla just cracked an eye open and stared at her, reluctant to leave the warm bundle she had with Kamaria.

“I despair,” Tiadrin sighed as she stomped into the living room with them. “I really do.” She put her bent wrists on her hips and surveyed the scene, her scowl softening into a big smile when she saw Rayla trying to heave herself up again. Ferrum swooped across the room, landing beside Cornix as he wobbled in Rayla’s shadow. He uttered a shrill ‘ _kee kee_ ’ to the little dæmon, and Cornix shifted into a balding kestrel chick in response. His feathers were sparse and fluffy, and a completely different palette to Ferrum’s. Where the little dæmon was dark and green, Ferrum was deep, midnight blue with paler bars on his wing feathers that looked not unlike stars. His head was a deep lilac, with shimmering, pearlescent lines similar to Tiadrin’s marks flanking his neck.

Cornix squawked and flapped his underdeveloped wings at the older dæmon, before toppling backwards against Rayla’s ankle. She lost her footing and slipped again, landing heavily on her knees with a shriek of surprise.

Ethari flexed his hands beside Runaan, resisting the urge to wring them together.

Smiling, Runaan leaned over, bumping his shoulder against Ethari’s, and murmured in a singsong voice, “She won’t thank you,”

Tiadrin strode across the room and sat at the corner of the table Rayla was hanging off of, and patted the surface with her hand. “Hey you, wee pest.” She said lovingly, and Rayla’s face split into a wide smile at the tone of voice. “C’mere! You can do it!”

“Isn’t that interfering?” Runaan asked lightly.

Not taking her big, beautiful smile off her little girl, Tiadrin pointed menacingly at him with her free hand, as her dæmon effortlessly flew to her shoulder and sat there, staring the elf down. In the same affectionate tone, smiling encouragingly at Rayla, she said, “When y’have one of yer own, you’re entitled to an opinion. Until then, you can shut the-”

Lain coughed loudly and theatrically, and then cleared his throat very forcefully when Tiadrin tried again. He fixed her with a stare of his own, torn between adoration and frustration. “Tiadrin, we discussed this.”

“Get that eejit outta my house then.”

“All right, dearest.” He bowed his head deeply, and as he bounced up again he gestured at Runaan. “One more word out of you, and you’re out on your ear, got it?”

Runaan was tempted to say something along the lines of ‘make me’, but Ethari gave him a dig in the ribs, just as Kamaria nipped Ayla’s ear in warning. So Runaan did what he did best under such circumstances: sat primly and in silence while Lain cackled in the background like a madelf.

While Ethari attempted to steer the conversation in an innocuous direction, and Lain saw fit to try and wind Runaan up on purpose because he was now on his best behaviour, Tiadrin encouraged Rayla to keep trying. It would be so easy, for any one of them to reach out and assist in the toddler’s balance, to nudge her feet in the right direction. Ethari moved to do so a few times, whenever Rayla fell over backwards or flat on her face, and every time someone tried to pick her up, she shrieked and batted them away.

Runaan looked up when Lain loomed over his shoulder, arms folded and giving his little girl a fond smile. “She’s a right handful.” He said with a sigh.

Looking back at the toddler, who was hanging off the edge of the table, wobbling around as she got a feel for the way her weight spread out across her stance, Runaan said, “Tenacious.”

“B’cause you’re m’little girl,” Tiadrin said, patting the tabletop and her knee at the same time while her dæmon stood on the floor nearby, keening softly to Cornix. “And I _know_ you’ll get the hang of it.”

Runaan and Ethari continued to chat with Lain, still watching Tiadrin encourage Rayla to walk no matter how many times she fell over. In the end, to relieve himself of the tension and urge to intervene, Runaan went to help Lain make tea for everyone.

“So, how are things?” Runaan asked pointedly once they were alone.

Lain smiled ruefully as he fussed over the kettle and rearranged the cups Runaan had laid out. He folded his arms and leaned against the table as his friend added tea leaves.

“Okay, I suppose. Tiadrin’s recovered. Rayla never shuts up,” his smile was gentle as he looked at the kitchen door. “I’m not gonna sleep again till the wee beasty’s at least six.”

“She’s doing incredibly well.” Runaan said gently. “They both are.”

Lain shot him a rueful smile. “Thanks.”

It had been a difficult delivery, and while not early enough to cause massive complications, early enough to make the pair of them freak out when the contractions had started. It had taken a long time to get used to nursing (Rayla was a fusspot, which made things even harder), and it had taken far longer than anticipated for Tiadrin to recover from the ordeal. She was an elf of action, and sitting still for any length of time grated on her nerves just as much as the jarring of her body when she had gone for runs too soon after.

Of the four friends, Lain was the most even keeled over his emotions. Runaan had had to make a quiet space in his study once or twice in that first year of parenthood where his friend could come and have a quiet meltdown by himself where Tiadrin couldn’t see. It hadn’t been easy, and Runaan and Ethari had pitched in as often as was polite – or rather, when Tiadrin permitted it because she was a raving Moonstrider vixen where her baby was concerned.

Difficult, but doable, and increasingly easier as Rayla became stronger and more mobile. Runaan was already planning the first sword he intended to give her, though he had conceded when Lain begged him to let the absolute _first_ weapon come from Tiadrin, otherwise he’d never know another moment’s peace for the rest of his days.

The pair of them worked in companionable silence to finish making the tea, and piled everything onto a tray to carry through to the other room.

“How about some moonberry surprise?” Lain asked on a whim, crashing his way through the pantry.

“If there’s any left.” Runaan said satirically.

Lain laughed good naturedly, and their two dæmons bumped noses amicably as he produced the last sliver of the dessert. “Only, keep it out of crawlin’ distance. Rayla’s got a sweet tooth for moonberries. If you leave it unattended, she _will_ destroy it.”

“Destroy it?” Runaan raised an eyebrow, containing his smile.

Lain grinned unrepentantly, rubbing his dæmon’s ears as she trotted by, flicking her tail into Ayla’s face as she went. “As in, she’ll have a spare mouthful and then smoosh the rest into the rug.”

Runaan rolled his eyes dramatically and shook his head, hands clasped behind his back. “Who would ever have children, eh?”

“Ohh, I dunno. I don’t think its just Rayla’s winnin’ smile that’s got Ethari all entranced and broody.” Lain teased, going to pick up the tray.

“Lain!” Tiadrin called urgently, and he let go, instantly running for the door Fidella a silver streak at his heels.

Runaan picked it up instead, and hurried after him, not overly concerned for anyone’s wellbeing, and rather curious. In the living room, Rayla was standing on her own two feet, _just_ out of reach of any stable surfaces to hold onto, and taking a few very shaky steps towards Tiadrin. She had moved a couple of paces away from the table and had her arms held out to the little girl, beaming while Ethari hovered behind her on his knees, hands at the ready _just_ in case. Cornix loped clumsily beside her, just far enough away that he couldn’t trip her up; Ferrum was perched on Kamaria’s back, and the doe had lowered her head to snuffle just close enough to the little dæmon to keep encouraging him.

Rayla paused, her weight shifting unevenly, face contorted with concentration. Then, she gave a cry of determination and ran forward, arms outstretched and flailing wildly. Of course, she tripped and fell, but she got a good few paces before she crashed into her mother’s waiting arms, and before she could shriek in protest at being helped, her mother showered her with praise and kisses. In light of the positive attention she was receiving, Rayla’s own face split into a great big grin, and she squealed happily.

“That’s m’girl!” Tiadrin lifted her up and tossed her into the air, a game Rayla absolutely loved. “Runnin’ before y’learned t’walk!” she pulled Rayla in for a tight embrace and kissed her hair and face before prodding her nose lovingly. “You’re gonna go far, girly. I just know it!”

Fidella pounced playfully and landed beside Cornix, giving him the same loving attention that Rayla was receiving, and then Lain bounded over to pluck her from Tiadrin’s arms so that he could throw her in the air too. He threw his head back and laughed freely as Rayla shrieked with mirth at the new height, and Tiadrin leaned back on one hand to watch, tucking her flyaway hair behind her ear as she smiled at the pair of them.

Runaan set the tray down on the table and sat back down beside Ethari, who was laughing as well although a lot more gently. He gave Runaan a fond look, and leaned over to kiss him gently as he pressed his hand. They both turned to look at their two best friends and their little girl, now squeezed between her parents in a big group hug while their dæmons likewise cuddled Cornix between them.

“Ahh…they say that once they learn to walk and talk, there’s no goin’ back.” Ethari said softly.

Runaan flashed him a wicked kind of smile. “We’re all doomed.”

Rayla really was something special. Determined, independent, fierce…

Truly, a force to be reckoned with, one day. Provided she practised her footwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lain’s dæmon is specifically modelled on the swift fox. I spent ages agonising over his and Tiadrin’s dæmons and revised the plans so many times xD I think (and hope) I picked animals that adequately reflect the little we know about them so far. Can’t wait for the next season, and still not over the fact we’re definitely getting the whole freaking saga :D


	13. Delectable Treat or Deadly Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 Post Episode 6: Back on firm ground after crossing the water, Team Zym decide to go foraging for food before they continue towards the border. Callum does an Uncle Iroh and Rayla reconsiders her decision to not kill him that first night.

After they had said their goodbyes to Captain Villads and the _Ruthless_ , the group hiked into the increasingly mountainous terrain. When Ezran asked if they could stop for lunch, sagging heavily as Kalila flopped dramatically onto the rocks beside him, in the form of a starling, Rayla paused and gave them both a long, hard look.

Cerys fluttered onto a nearby log, and Cornix swooped down to sit beside her. The pair of them exchanged looks, and a thin stream of thoughts passed from them to their people. Callum was hungry too, but unwilling to ask for a rest – the border was so close, he didn’t want to waste any time with the shadow of the dragon looming in the cloudscape. Cornix wanted a break too; he was exhausted from the anxiety of being on the boat for so long, on top of his fear for Cerys and Callum’s safety during the storm. He and Rayla both needed to catch their breaths.

“Fine.” Rayla conceded, fishing through their packs. “Ez, go find a stream and fill these up,” she handed him the spare water skins. “You, go find some berries or somethin’.” She pointed at Callum as she rooted around the undergrowth, looking for a suitable stick.

“What about you?” Callum asked as he unslung his pack into the pile she had made.

“I’m goin’ fishin’. And as for _you_ ,” she crouched down and rubbed Zym’s head as he trotted over to her, wide eyed, tongue lolling, rump wriggling with appeasement. “Stay outta sight, y’wee cutie. Don’t go wanderin’ off, now.”

“C’mon, Zym,” Ezran held his arms out wide. “You can help me get water!”

Bait watched them for a long, silent moment, and then he _harrumphed_ with irritation as Ezran bounced off with the little dragon, flashing colours to reflect his mood. Kalila turned into an otter and bounded after Zym with a whoop, leaving the glow toad on his own.

“Hey, why don’t you come with me?” Callum asked kindly, and Bait turned towards him, glowing more brightly again with his tail wagging. Cerys swooped down and landed on his back, where she rubbed her beak against his neck and cooed happily to him.

“Ez!” Rayla called after him with a look of loving exasperation.

“Yeah?” he yelled back, skidding to a halt.

“Don’t go too far! And stay down stream of me!”

“Got it!”

“Will he be okay?” Callum asked nervously, watching his baby brother running further away from them down the slope.

“He’ll be fine, Callum.” She touched his arm reassuringly as she walked by, twirling the stick in her other hand. Satisfied, she flicked out one of her swords and started sharpening it at one end.

Cornix, seeing that Callum wasn’t convinced, flapped up to the branch of an upturned tree near him, and croaked, “We’ll hear an adult dragon from miles away. And Ez isn’t stupid.”

Callum gave Ezran a comically wide-eyed look, pretending to be disbelieving of the sentiment. He folded his arms, cocked his head to one side, and the dæmon mirrored the gesture. “The jury’s still out on that one.” He said with a sly smile that had Cornix barking with laughter.

Cerys landed on Callum’s head and leant down to tweak his ear. “Don’t be mean.”

“Yeah,” Rayla drawled, waving her newly finished spear around theatrically and grinning. “Wouldn’t want you to have to do that Gods awful jerk face dance again,”

Cerys bobbed on his head and fixed Rayla with a hard stare. “Don’t give him any ideas.”

Rayla waved her away with a vague gesture. “Off you go then. Meet back here in an hour.”

“Am I looking for anything in particular?”

“Just whatever you can find. Moonberries are always good for travellin’.”

They parted ways, and Rayla found a river that fed into the same stream Ezran was terrorising, maybe half a mile away from their position. She waded into the water, and waited patiently, poised and watchful while her dæmon sat on an overhanging branch above her, keeping an eye out for danger while she hunted for fish. She almost wished she had actually paid attention to Runaan’s wilderness lessons, instead of larking around in the background. He could pluck fish out of the water with his bare hands – something Rayla had thought was an impressive but ultimately useless trick, until now.

Something flitted and darted close to her feet, and Rayla slammed the sharpened stick into the water, cursing when she _just_ missed the fish. She looked again at the way the water distorted the images beneath the surface, and readjusted her aim again. The next time, she caught one, and quickly dashed it against a large rock nearby to end its misery. Cornix caught it in mid-air as she tossed it over her shoulder, and swooped down to the bank with it.

While she worked, a brazen stoat slunk over, eyeing the growing pile of fish with interest, and only stopped approaching because Cornix made a loud, threatening display over the haul. In the end, Rayla threw her spear at it, and the stoat scarpered into the bushes like a spectre. Spying a long, twisty vine, Rayla cut it down from the tree it was strangling, and used it to tie the pile of fish together, before looping it to her spear, and then she went to go find Ezran.

He had managed to get water into the spare skins – and also soak himself and Zym. Kalila was bouncing around the stream with the little dragon, frog shaped and croaking loudly, while the boy ran around, giggling.

“You done?” Rayla asked over the cacophony. She smiled down at Zym as he bounced over, curious of the strange fishy smells and bumping his muzzle against the slippery things with interest.

“Yeah-” Ezran looked at her properly, and gasped with wide eyed amazement. “Rayla, wow! Did you catch all those by yourself?”

“Yup.” She hefted the spear on her shoulders after straightening up from giving Zym a pat. “Let’s get cookin’,”

Kalila turned into a magpie and soared up into the air with Cornix. The pair of them chased each other over head as their people walked back to the bags.

“You ever cooked before?” Rayla asked as she set everything down beside the packs.

Ezran shook his head. “I tried baking, but I kept getting in Barius’ way. That and I kept eating the batter when he wasn’t looking.”

“Well, you’re goin’ t’learn how to barbeque fish. _Moonshadow_ style,” she held out Callum’s clasp knife to him, and Ezran eyed her uncertainly. “And it starts with guttin’ the fish.”

“I’m not usually allowed to hold sharp things.” He said hesitantly.

“You won’t learn to do it safely without tryin’.” She told him with a smile. “Here, watch what I do,”

They hunkered down at the edge of the camp site, and Rayla showed him how to slit the fish open, and the best way to pull the internal organs out in one go. She handed the clasp knife to Ezran, who looked a little dubious, but willing to try. While he started, Rayla shooed Zym away from the growing pile of guts (he pulled a face and made a sound a bit like ’bleh’ and bounced after her) and went looking for rocks to build a hearth. By the time she had the fire pit laid, Ezran was doing such a good job that she left him to it and went ahead lighting the fire. She looked up, and Cornix flapped into the sky to circle the perimeter, eyes open for Callum.

“It’s too bad we don’t have a cookin’ pot. We could have made some stock for later,” she mused, looking at Ezran attempt to debone one of the fish. It didn’t go very well, and she added, “That’s fine, we’ll just be careful when we eat them. You’re doin’ great.”

Ezran beamed up at her. “Thanks! This would be a lot more fun if it was just a regular camping trip,” he grinned at Zym, and dropped the knife so he could cuddle the little dragon. “Where did you send Callum?” he asked over the fluffy head.

“To forage.” Rayla turned her attention to Cornix, who couldn’t see anything. “He’s been gone a while.” The hour wasn’t quite up yet, but she was still getting worried.

“Did he take his sketchbook?” Ezran asked, gently setting Zym down on the ground. The dragonling squealed and wagged his tail appealingly, and Ezran nearly caved again.

“Looks like it,” she said, casting a look at the pile of bags.

Kalila swooped down as a swallow, and turned into a peahen as she strutted past Rayla. “He’s probably drawing and losing track of time.”

“I didn’t know you had peacocks this side of the border,” Rayla gave the dæmon an amused look.

“Oh yeah, we do! Only, she’s a pea _hen_.” Ezran sighed, looking at her comparatively drab plumage. “What do Xadian peacocks look like?”

“Really bright, with _massive_ tails like fans, that look like a rainbow sneezed on ‘em.” Rayla told him with relish, and grinned when the boy laughed.

“Really?! They’re just blue and green and purple in Katolis.”

“I heard that in Lux Aurea, the Sunfire elves breed a special kinda peacock that’s all red and orange and yellows.”

“I saw a white peacock once,” Ezran told her, handing the pen knife back and helping her to spear the fish onto the sticks she had gathered up and sharpened. “It looked like a ghost. My Dad said that some peacocks are bred that way, and they’re not albino.”

Rayla faltered at the mention of King Harrow. She wasn’t sure if Callum had told him yet. She was spared wallowing in those thoughts; Cornix cawed loudly, and she looked up to see Cerys flitting into the air beside him. Callum couldn’t be far behind.

“Hey guys!” he called loudly, waving at them with Bait on his hip.

“Did you guys have fun?” Ezran asked the glow toad as Callum dropped him into his lap.

The three dæmons swooped and arced in the air above them (Kalila as a hawk), as Callum put down the cloth he had been using as a bag. It was full of berries and what looked like wild onions and garlic. Rayla was at first impressed, but the shape of a flower amongst the berries caught her attention. While Ezran bounced around, chatting loudly and chasing Zym as Callum tried to keep his exuberance under control, Rayla bent down and poked at his haul. She threw a question to Cornix, who passed it to Cerys, and Rayla spun round at her response and grabbed Callum’s shoulders. He squeaked in alarm and stared at her with wide eyes as she took his face in her hands and forced his eyes even wider, staring intently at his pupils.

“Did you eat any of those dark berries with the blue flowers? The four petaled starbursts?”

“Uh…no?” he said in a small voice. “I thought those were blueberries?”

Rayla snarled, and checked his throat, then his reflexes. “It’s nightshade, you idiot!” she admonished him.

“Whut?” he blinked. “But that has five petals. And it’s purple!”

It was Rayla’s turn to blink. “In Xadia it’s four. This is definitely a Xadian flower,” she showed him, and then asked again, “You _sure_ you didn’t eat any of them?”

“Positive,” he squeaked, looking very freaked out by her reaction.

Rayla breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Nobody touch anythin’ until I say so. Callum, go wash your hands. _Thoroughly_.”

“How can you be sure its poisonous?” Ezran asked as Rayla disposed of the berries by digging a hole and burying them. “And why would a Xadian plant be growing out here?”

“Moonberries grow all over Katolis,” she pointed out, slicing a berry in half and rubbing a small amount of juice against her arm before she ditched it into the hole. “Here’s a survival tip – if you don’t know whether a plant is toxic, you can test by rubbin’ it on your skin like this. If nothin’ happens you can try a tiny piece of it on your tongue to see if it does anythin’.”

“And…we’re not gonna do that?” Ezran asked, cuddling Zym up in his arms as Kalila jumped onto his shoulder as a wildcat.

“Nope. Because I’m pretty sure I know what this is.” She looked up as Cornix watched Callum returning from the river, sleeves wet up to the elbows. “All clean?”

“Squeaky clean,” he assured her.

While they waited for the juice to react on Rayla’s arm, they thoroughly washed the rest of the food he had gathered up, and then Rayla sent him to get some long grasses to wrap around the onions.

“It would be better if we had big leaves. But this’ll do the trick,” she told Ezran, showing him how to bind the food up so that it would cook in the fire without getting burnt.

“You sure it’s not poisonous?” Ezran asked dubiously as his monkey dæmon poked at it with the same expression on her face.

“Onions and garlic. I promise. And if we all die of food poisonin’ tonight, you can yell at me in the afterlife.”

Ezran laughed, and Callum shot them both a look of annoyance.

Raising his voice, Ezran said to Rayla, so that his brother could hear every word, “When we were little, this one time at the Banther Lodge, Callum and Claudia made a stew out of water hemlock.”

Rayla stared first at Ezran, then at Callum, before slapping a hand over her face. “Oh Gods _no_ …”

“Dad wasn’t very happy about it.”

“She _said_ it was pound cake bush.” Callum grumbled.

Slowly, Rayla dragged her hand down her face, and Ezran laughed at her expression. “How you’re still alive is beyond me.” She sniped at Callum.

Callum scooped up his sketchbook and stomped to the other side of the camp. Under his breath, he muttered mutinously, “No thanks to _you_ ,”

“Hey,” Rayla stomped after him and grabbed him by the collar, hooking her fingers into his scarf as she did so. Face inches from his, she scowled theatrically and said, “I made a tactical decision not to kill you that night. _Don’t_ make me regret it.”

“Are you two arguing?” Ezran asked, wide eyed and guileless on the other side of the fire.

“Just discussin’ the finer points of wilderness dinin’,” Rayla said airily, waving her arm under Callum’s nose so he could see the rash the berry juice had brought up.

“Shouldn’t you put something on that?” he asked uneasily as she walked back to the fire side to check on the fish.

“It should be fine.” She said offhandedly. “I have a resistance to nightshade.”

“How can you…?” Callum began. Then it was his turn to put his face in his hand and sigh heavily.

When he looked up again, Rayla was giving him a bright, vivid smile; she wasn’t even trying to hide her mirth. Cornix flew in a big, looping arc, complete with a corkscrew spin and everything in his exuberance. “Certain advantages to bein’ a trained assassin.” She said teasingly.

Callum gave her a tired smile, which grew immeasurably sad when he turned to look at Ezran. He was lying on his back with his legs outstretched, Zym balanced above on his feet; the little dragon was barking and wriggling with delight, wings outstretched and practising the motions of flying. The boy didn’t appear to have a care in the world in that moment. Rayla saw the sudden and deep shift in Callum’s mood, and stared pointedly at Cornix. Her dæmon baulked for a moment, bobbing on his branch and ruffling his feathers up in agitation, before he conceded under the weight of Rayla’s scowl and the force of the thought she sent to him.

Cornix continued to bob along the branch, closer to Cerys, who was watching Ezran just as her human was. She jumped and fanned her wings when Cornix poked her tail, and they sat for a moment in silence before they communicated wordlessly. Callum lifted his chin and turned in their direction, but didn’t look away from his little brother. Rayla knew he was aware of the conversation their dæmons were having, and as Cerys confirmed that Ezran still didn’t know about their father, Callum’s shoulders slumped a little as he heaved a big sigh.

Hesitantly, Rayla lifted a hand and touched his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. Callum gave her a strained, unhappy smile before he dropped his gaze to his boots. Rayla wanted to do something, _anything_ to cheer him up, but she didn’t know what to do. Cornix and Cerys broke off their conversation when Kalila flapped up to meet them, as a fish eagle. Then Rayla looked at Ezran, and nudged Callum’s shoulder. He looked up at her, and she inclined her head in their direction with an indulgent roll of her eyes.

“Hey, guys!” Ezran cried. “Look! _Look_!” Zym was still balanced on his feet, Ezran’s legs stretched as far as they would go; he flapped his arms around in time to the wingbeats Zym was producing, the pair of them grinning at each other. “You can do it Zym! I know you can!” the little dragon squealed back at him and raked the air over Ezran’s face with his claws, squirming with delight.

Callum chuckled, and then gave a real laugh when Rayla gave him a friendly dig in the ribs, laughing as well. She was so glad to see the melancholy leave his eyes, even if it would only be briefly.

“He’ll be flyin’ in no time,” she said happily. “Zym’ll be castin’ thunderstorms by the time we get him home.”

“What do you think of that, Zym?” Ezran asked with a grin. Then, because he couldn’t resist any longer, he pushed up before letting Zym flop down and land on his chest before burying him in a great big hug.

While the food was cooking, Ezran got up and ran circles around the camp site with Zym and Bait. Cornix and Cerys flapped back to their people, and Rayla poked Callum’s arm gently.

“Hey…you okay?”

Callum gave her a sad smile before turning to watch Ezran’s progress over the rocks nearby. “Our Dad used to play those games with us.” He said in a low voice.

Rayla reached out and took his hand, gripping firmly. Cornix flapped up to sit on her horns, and Cerys fluttered onto Callum’s shoulder, the closest one to Rayla. The two dæmons gave each other a long, level look while their people sat in comfortable silence.

Eventually, they had to move, because their being pensive would ultimately catch Ezran’s notice, and the cooking required their attention. They turned the food, fussed over Zym, checked the water supplies and went over their bags thoroughly several times. Then they retrieved the food from the spits and the makeshift grass ovens, and ate companionably in more or less silence.

Still, Rayla managed to find reasons to discreetly touch Callum’s arm, squeeze his shoulder, or give him a reassuring smile as they went about their shared duties. She hoped more than believed that she was being supportive – until they had damped the fire down and packed everything up in readiness to hike a bit further and find a good place to spend the night. As they were getting ready to leave, Callum took her hand in both of his and gave her an affectionate squeeze. His warm smile took her by surprise, but she returned it as Cerys rubbed her beak gently against Cornix’s neck in a friendly gesture.

“Thank you.” Callum said sincerely.

Rayla didn’t say anything, just put her free hand over his and squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone suggested this in a comment a while ago and here it finally is xD title is gratuitous Avatar fanservice, but I still think Callum would totally do something like this if left to his own devices in the wilderness.


	14. Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Episode 7: Soren has been full of doubt ever since he was ordered to kill the Princes. It’s wrenching his heart, but his father is correct about one thing: Soren knows the right thing to do.

It was still daytime – at least, it _should_ have been. The sky over the elven city was dark, like an eclipse. Except that Soren knew it wasn’t. He had never been good at magic, nor had he ever cared enough to try learning, but he knew deep down somewhere in his very bones that this was _wrong_. Using magic to achieve something was one thing – blotting out the very sun was another.

Their father had come back, alone and triumphant, holding a new staff in his hands that looked of Xadian design – probably taken from the capital. And that strange bug had grown, _exploded_ in size; it was unlike anything Soren had ever seen. Long and sinuous, thicker around the middle, with the markings on its back more pronounced with the extra space. And it was draped around Viren’s neck, the place where his dæmon always sat; for one, awful moment Soren thought the creature had consumed Morgause, but she was still there, coiled around his left wrist. Her eyes were closed, like she was unconscious, which unnerved Soren as much as anything else.

Cia had backed up a couple of paces, biting back a whine of distress. Salem shivered and hunkered down in Claudia’s shadow, refusing to look at Cia when she appealed to him. Claudia herself was tight with anxiety, and the two siblings had exchanged looks of concern. It irritated Soren that Prince Kasef didn’t show any outward emotion; his jackal dæmon lazily flicked an ear, but otherwise remained just as stiff and formal as ever, although she didn’t look directly at the… _thing_ , draped around the mage’s shoulders.

And then their father gave an impassioned speech to the gathered armies about attacking Xadia, but it was so…Soren didn’t know what word he needed, but something in the tone of voice felt twisted. Sinister. Wrong, so deeply wrong, like the lights in the sky above them; like the feeling in his gut when he had been told to kill Callum and Ezran. Cia quivered beside him, and Soren reached out to grab a fistful of her fur to calm them both.

And then, Viren asked the reluctant armies to not be afraid, and when no one wanted to go first, he turned towards Soren, and volunteered him instead.

Soren felt like he had been punched in the gut so hard that he couldn’t draw breath for a few moments. So many things ran through his head in that moment, heart pounding, memories and emotions rushing like a burst damn.

He didn’t want to. He didn’t know what his father was planning, but he knew it wasn’t good. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had actually said he was proud of him. He couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation on the battlements, how he was so sure that his father had been telling him that Ezran and Callum needed to die for the good of the kingdom – for _Humanity_. And then he had swept everything out from under him when Claudia had challenged Viren about it, and the man who Soren thought he knew just laughed it off and all but called him stupid.

After everything he had been through, the struggle to come to terms with what he needed to do, after being so badly hurt that he couldn’t move at all – coming home to be clapped in irons on sight… That had hurt more than anything. But Soren couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been right the first time round, and the more he thought about it, the more he listened to the way his father twisted words and sentences around, to the High Council, the war ministers, the soldiers and advisors – he was seeing a pattern he couldn’t believe he had never seen before.

The man told them what they wanted to hear, played on their fears and emotions, used their anger and sorrow to drive them to do his bidding. Just as he had twisted Soren’s own loyalty to the Crown against him, to make sure what Viren wanted would happen.

And as his father turned to him, hand outstretched, all those thoughts swirled around Soren’s head at once, all accounted for and felt deeply, so much so that Soren thought he might burst. The displaced snake dæmon was wrapped around her human’s wrist, flicking her tongue lazily, eyes still closed.

Viren said softly, “Let me help you.”

Cia’s head snapped up as something jolted down Soren’s spine, spreading across his solar plexus like a lightning strike.

Help? _Help_ him?

It was like seeing clearly for the first time. Like that moment at the hospital when he had suddenly been able to move his lifeless limbs again. Painful, _beautiful_ ; full of a clarity he didn’t know was possible.

“I don’t wanna do this.” Soren said quietly, taking a step back as Cia lifted her hackles, standing stiff with agitation and agreement.

Once, that hard look on his father’s face may have made him quail, but something in Soren solidified. “Step forward.”

There it was again, that tone that brooked no argument – a voice that expected whatever was asked for would be done, and that people would fall over themselves in order to do.

Hoping his father would understand, Soren admitted the simple truth, hoping to appeal to him as a parent. “I…I’m afraid.”

Soren thought for a moment that his father was going to hit him. With his fist or a spell or _something_. The ugly look on his face was nothing to do with the cracked, weathered effects of magic. Cia crouched, ready to strike out if she needed to in order to defend her human.

But before anything could happen, Kasef proclaimed loudly for all to hear that _he_ was ready for this ‘gift’. It was both a relief to have attention diverted from him, and made Soren feel sick to his stomach to see Viren put a hand on the Prince’s shoulder and lead him to the front again. He gave Soren such a withering look over his shoulder, like he was bitterly disappointed in him.

And it bit deep – but not because he was still trying to win his father’s approval. It hurt, because he remembered the man he used to be. The image in his mind of how his father was when they were little, had blinded him to the man he had become now.

Soren took a step back, turning aside from Claudia. He was shaking; Cia growled long and low at the back of her throat, begging him to leave, _run_. Staying was a terrible, awful idea. Salem thrashed his tail in agitation, but didn’t reach out to touch Cia. Claudia was caught between her brother and father like a vice, looking from one to the other, trying to remain steady.

The spell Viren used was full of purple light, spilling from the staff in his hands. Kasef’s body twisted – his fingers actually _bent_ in awful directions, like his bones were screaming in protest. Veins covered his body, like he was covered in lava, the way Sunfire elves were said to use magic. By the time the spell was finished, Kasef wasn’t Kasef anymore. The sound that came from him was deep, guttural…a roar that wasn’t human. Beside him, his dæmon threw back her head and howled, as deformed and beyond recognition as Kasef.

The crowd gasped and whispered to each other in shock and horror.

Kasef – the _thing_ that had been Kasef – panted, and roared again.

This was what his father had been going to do to him, to his ‘own beloved son’.

“Soren…” Cia whined, so quietly that only he could hear her. Her tail was jammed between her legs, ears flat against her skull. He could feel her fear, her horror – and her deep sympathy for the thing that had once been a dæmon. And the chilling thought that that could have been _them_ , that her dear Soren could have been reduced to this pitiful state. All because Viren wanted power.

They had to leave. _Now_.

Soren couldn’t bear to stay there a moment longer. He turned to look back only once before he made for the edge of the encampment. Just to see if his father was looking at him. But he wasn’t. He was more concerned with the monster he had created. The thought made Soren’s stomach churn. He had to reach out to hang onto the rock face beside him for a moment to keep his balance.

Everything was moving too slowly, he wished time would speed up. His insides rolled unpleasantly, his heart hammered a violent rhythm against his ribs. Cia skittered beside him on the looser rocks under foot as they made their way down the slope.

He needed…what did he need to leave? Horse. A mount. And food and water. And to remember where the Storm Spire was. The place he knew they would be heading to next. He prayed that Ezran had made it back to Callum safely, hoped that Rayla was still around because the pair of them would be safest with her. That the Dragon Prince was still with them.

Cia threw her head back and let out a pained whine, and he patted her head automatically, his mind still racing, only able to think in small, disjointed sentences. One thing at a time; one step at a time.

His heart quivered when he heard Claudia following them, and felt the rush of affection when Salem bounded over to Cia and licked her muzzle lovingly.

“Soren? What’s going on? Where are you going?” Claudia pleaded, dodging in front of him and holding his hands, trying to anchor him.

“I can’t stay here anymore, Claudia.” He told her while their dæmons nuzzled each other for reassurance. Gently, Soren removed her hands and gestured behind him. “You’ve _seen_ what’s going on.”

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but Soren was desperate to make her see what he could now so clearly see. The _truth_.

“What Dad turned Kasef into. What-!” he sighed, feeling his anger fizzle out almost as soon as it had begun burning. “What _Dad_ turned into.”

Claudia instantly leapt to his defence, with questions and reasoning, and Soren’s heart sank. By their feet, Salem was wordlessly begging Cia to come back with them, and she lowered her head in defeat.

“Maybe he’s just doing what needs to be done.” Claudia insisted .

Soren felt like a dagger was between his ribs, but he was done with lies and half-truths and skirting around subjects. He had never been good with ‘insinuations’, he had always been best at being blunt.

“Claudia, you’re changing too.” He said gently.

She looked away, eyes very bright like she was trying not to cry. She faltered as she went to tuck her hair behind her ear at his next words.

“But it’s not too late.” Soren put a hand on her shoulder. “Come with me, Claudia. You can leave him!”

They might not have their parents, but they’d still have each other. And her skills in magic could help them defend the Spire place.

“Please, Soren! Don’t…” his little sister looked like she might break apart if he pushed any harder. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me choose, not again!” she pushed him away, her whole being quivering.

Because she was remembering that difficult conversation, back when they were kids. When she had felt so torn, and then had the decision made for her when their mother walked out of their lives forever. They never spoke about it, because it still hurt her so deeply after all these years. Salem hissed and ran to her; Claudia bent down and scooped her dæmon up and held him close. He was the one thing that would never leave her, because he was a part of her.

That just made this all the more painful to do.

Necessary, the right thing to do.

But so painful.

“Okay.” Soren told her as gently as possible.

Claudia looked up at him, still cradling her dæmon in her arms, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“Goodbye, Clauds.”

Soren went in for a hug, but his sister recoiled from him, pulling her dæmon away from him and Cia. “No!” she shot at him.

Soren sighed, lowered his arms, and turned aside. He walked away, towards the remains of the elven citadel, the awful red light still hanging low on the horizon.

“No!” Claudia shouted, like her heart was breaking. Because her pleas hadn’t convinced him to stay. “No, no, _no_!”

Soren paused, and started to look over his shoulder. He hadn’t heard her cry like that since the day their parents split up. The dagger in his ribs twisted painfully. He needed a moment to recover himself. Cia put her head on his hip, and looked up at him sadly.

Painful, difficult…the hardest thing he’d probably ever have to do, to leave his other half behind.

But necessary if he was going to do the right thing.

Soren walked, straight backed, determined, over to the very edge of the camp. There, he grabbed someone’s pack, another person’s saddle, and went to find his horse. He tacked up while Cia nosed her way through the supplies, and then at her prompting he grabbed a map from the closest Officer’s tent. He checked the route, and grabbed an extra water skin, just to be safe in case he had to take a detour through that desert.

When he had everything, Soren hesitated, and lowered his foot out of the stirrup.

“What is it?” Cia asked nervously, twitching with anxiety.

Soren sighed, and turned from the saddle to look at her. “I’m gonna miss them.” He said simply. “And…” he put his free hand back on the saddle. His mount turned his head towards him and snuffled at his hand. He reached out absently to scratch his faithful old horse lovingly. “I just…can’t believe it took me so long to realise. And Claudia…” he swallowed thickly. “She just… _hasn’t_.”

“Remember what Harrow used to say,” Cia told him stoically, keeping them both grounded as Soren heaved himself up into the saddle finally. “‘Better late, than never at all’.”

Soren opened his mouth slowly to say something, when a great roaring sound came from over the rise. They both whipped around, and the horse shied away from the noise. An eery glow was just visible at the top of the incline.

“Better get moving,” Soren said urgently, urging his horse forward. “Keep your ears open.”

“On it.” Cia let him walk the mount a few paces away, and put her ear to the ground. “No pursuers yet.” She sprang into action and pelted in the direction the map said they needed to go. “It’s now or never, Soren.”

“Hya!” he gave the horse a dig with his heels, and they galloped out of the camp together into the gathering dusk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: Soren’s finest hour. This was suggested in a comment a while ago, it took some time to write because I was trying to get into Soren’s headspace. I honestly didn’t like him as a character at the very beginning because of his apparent willingness to do what his father ordered, but my Gods did he grow and BLOSSOM in season 3 and own his past mistakes! His was the most satisfying season 3 story arc for me <3


	15. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Season 1: After a long day of tending to military matters, Sarai hurries back to her family, worried that Harrow may not have coped with babysitting duties on his own. Her fears prove to be unfounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for more baby Callum a while ago :D Have some baby Ezran too because they’re both just too damn cute <3 
> 
> I’m still open to any suggestions for specific scenes/characters, and I really appreciate feedback so I can keep improving my writing

Sarai hurried down the corridor, her agitation very poorly concealed. Kaki loped at her side to keep up, as anxious to get back as his human. They had spent the _whole damn_ day stuck in meeting after meeting, barely seeing the boys at all, while the higher ups in the army failed to get their collective crap together. She had collared Amaya towards the end, demanding that she climb the ranks to General at least, and marshal these idiots into order. Amaya had rolled her eyes and signed ‘Mama Banther’ at her.

Nodding curtly to the soldiers on duty, Sarai practically flew down the last hallway, never _quite_ breaking into a run, but the dhole by her side always in the brink of doing so. She had visions of Harrow not coping, that Ezran would be wailing and refusing the bottle while Callum had a quiet meltdown in the corner.

Bursting through the doors to their chambers, Sarai stood dramatically in the doorway, panting with exertion – and blinked in surprise.

Harrow was lying on his back in front of the fire, with Ezran spread out across his chest, apparently dozing. Callum was snuggled up against his side, fast asleep; Harrow had an arm around him, a story book in hand with the other gently holding Ezran in place as he snuffled around in his sleep. Callum’s head was on Harrow’s shoulder, completely dead to the world. Epira was curled up around the boys’ dæmons by the fireside, contentedly licking their ears alternately (both being in the form of pups). Harrow opened his eyes sleepily and glanced towards the door, and Sarai felt the weight of her over reaction hanging on her shoulders.

She chuckled to herself, straightened up and fixed her hair before she stepped fully inside and closed the door behind her. Kaki padded over and bumped noses with Epira, relieved and ready to flop down from exhaustion. Sarai followed more slowly, and sat down cross legged beside Harrow as he slowly roused himself.

“I wasn’t asleep on the job,” he said with a wry smile, stifling a yawn.

Sarai laughed softly, and reached for Ezran, who shuffled and yawned as well. “How was your afternoon?” she hefted the infant up into her arms and brushed the stray locks of hair from his brow. Ezran opened his eyes, and recognised her, and began to fuss because he knew what her presence meant.

Harrow chuckled as he slowly and carefully lifted Callum from the floor and into his lap. The boy flopped around, still sound asleep despite Ezran’s protestations. Sarai quickly arranged her clothes before her youngest son started squawking any louder, and he fell silent as he started nursing. They had managed to get Ezran to agree with a bottle, most days, which made attending to her duties easier, but this was a lot more comforting for both of them. Sarai looked up once she was sure Ezran had settled, and smiled warmly as she caught Harrow cuddling Callum up in his arms, stroking the boy’s hair with a tender smile of his own.

“You both look worn out. What on earth did you all get up to?” Sarai asked teasingly.

Kaki settled down alongside Epira, chin resting between the mastiff’s shoulder blades, and the pair of them closed their eyes contentedly.

Harrow chuckled, stroking Callum’s hair again. “We went down to the river, Callum drew some _excellent_ pictures of the frogs we found there,” he nodded at the open sketchbook on the floor a few paces away, surrounded by chalks and paints and sticks of charcoal. “And then we went chasing butterflies. Why, we had such an adventure today! Ezran loved the butterflies,”

Sarai chuckled as well, and looked to Kaki. He obligingly got to his feet and fetched the sketchbook for her. Callum was, as Harrow had put it, a budding artist. His hand wasn’t steady or precise, but the expressions he penned down were spot on, and the more diligently he practised, the better his drawings became, in a surprisingly short amount of time.

“Oh look, he drew a tadpole,” she commented, tracing lines above the page with her finger.

Harrow supressed a laugh. “That’s Bait.”

“ _What_?” she asked flatly, looking at the thing on the page.

“We didn’t _quite_ get round to colouring everything in.” Harrow told her with an indulgent smile, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Harrow,” Sarai said bluntly, holding the book up one handed as she cradled Ezran close to her. “That’s not a glow toad. It’s a blob.”

“Yes!” Harrow hefted Callum in his arms as the boy’s nerveless limbs slid in his lax grip. “But an _angry_ blob, don’t you think? Look,” he pointed out the lines that denoted the frumpy frown.

Sarai chuckled again, and nuzzled her dæmon’s face as Kaki paced by. “I’ll give you that.” She admitted, just a little grudgingly. It wasn’t her intention to demean Callum’s artwork, but _still_ …

Harrow took the book from her and placed it on his knee so that he could flick through the pages and show her what else Callum had drawn that day. They were by no means master pieces, but Sarai could see the well spring of talent Callum was starting to tap into.

“It was a good call,” she said softly, lifting Ezran up to wind him when he decided he was full.

“What?” Harrow asked distractedly, looking at Callum still.

Sarai smiled. “The sketchbook. I don’t think he ever puts it down if he can help it.” Her smiled broadened when Harrow’s cheeks flushed, and he got all coy and shy.

Epira wouldn’t look at Sarai, but her tail wagged happily. Kaki licked her ears in response, and the dog dæmon turned her attention to the pups between her front paws.

Sarai didn’t say it out loud, because she didn’t like embarrassing Harrow _too_ much, but she was pleased and contented to see him getting on so well with Callum. He had been wracked with nerves so bad he had almost been paralysed by them where her eldest son was concerned. And Callum himself could be very picky about who he was comfortable being around; that he had happily fallen asleep on Harrow was just another sign that he had taken to the man.

“I suppose we should get this one to bed,” Harrow said eventually, once Ezran had snoozed off. He brought Callum close enough for Sarai to kiss him goodnight, and though he shuffled reflexively in his sleep, he didn’t wake up.

Kaki plucked Kalila from the tangle of sleeping limbs, and brought her over to Sarai while Epira gently lifted Cerys in her mouth. She padded over to Harrow, and they left to take Callum to bed. By the time they returned, Sarai had Ezran likewise tucked up into his crib, and was dressed for bed. She gave Harrow a dramatic, sidelong look before she collapsed into bed in a heap.

“Long day?” he asked softly, reaching for his night shirt.

Sarai groaned in response, slowly dragging her hands down over her face. “I don’t feel like I’m even needed half the time. I could be spending it with the boys,”

Having Callum had been wonderful; she got as much time off from the army as she wanted, and Amaya and Ethan had been incredibly attentive. Now, she was Queen Consort and in charge of her own faction of the Katolian Army. The never-ending stream of duties felt relentless at times. And then, sometimes, like when they had been sat on the hearth rug together, or now as Harrow climbed into bed with her, it all felt worth it.

Harrow smiled at her, but as they settled in for the night, his expression became pensive.

“What is it? She asked, gently pressing a fingertip to his brow to smooth the crease that was forming there.

“I-” he glanced at her, then away, and sat up before coughing into the back of his hand. “I…hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries with Callum.”

Sarai raised an eyebrow. He was _still_ worrying about that? Then again, he wouldn’t be Harrow if he didn’t. Had he been hell bent on replacing Callum’s father, she would have never let the situation escalate to marriage. Callum needed a parental figure in his life, and Sarai knew Harrow was very aware of her wishes for him to have some kind of relationship with his birth father.

“Of course not.” She said softly. Then, because he was looking lost and worried, she added, “I trust you.” He gave her a searching look, and she smiled in response. “You have always approached the subject with the _utmost_ delicacy.” Her expression softened, and she pressed his hand. “If you were all the things you fear you are towards my son, I would have never agreed to court you in the first place.”

Harrow’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he laughed, which eased Sarai’s own concerns. “I confess, I took to Callum right away. Such a sweet boy,” he leaned back and looked up at the canopy above their bed.

Sarai closed her eyes and pressed her cheek into the pillow. Kaki crawled up from the foot of the bed, and stretched out against her back. Epira took her usual place, sprawled over Harrow’s leg and feet, and settled in for the night.

When Callum was older, Sarai fully intended to tell him more about his father. He was still too young at the moment, and, well…

Amaya had pointed out that it wasn’t _wholly_ fair to deny Harrow the right to make a claim on Callum. He was after all living under the man’s roof, and living up to the expectations his stepfather’s title bestowed. That, and it was clear that Harrow adored the boy, cherished him as much as he did Ezran. More than once he had referred to the pair of them as ‘his boys’, and Sarai had felt comfortable with that. When Amya had pressed and asked if Sarai minded Callum calling Harrow ‘dad’, she hadn’t been able to answer right away. At first, she had thought the answer was no. Then, Harrow had gone out of his way to make Callum feel welcome in the castle, to introduce him to lots of kids his age, and try to find out all the things Callum liked so that they could do those activities together.

No, she didn’t think she minded the notion. She didn’t want Ethan to be forgotten, but she knew what was past was past.

They were a bit alike, Harrow and Ethan. Both had gorgeous green eyes that she was a complete sucker for. And where Harrow had all the eloquence and training that made an erudite prince, Ethan had had raw emotion. If Sarai had to sum up both men with one word each, she would have to choose ‘compelling’ for Ethan, and ‘determined’ for Harrow.

Callum’s birth father could have charmed the skin off a snake with his words, had he ever had enough guile to think about doing so. Harrow was forever caught in a delicate balancing act, using his gilded tongue to get what he wanted out of a situation, and always striving for what would most benefit his people. The only time she had seen him doing anything close to duplicitous was when he was twisting Viren’s arm with the express intent of winding him up, or smiling sweetly at the cooks to get extra cakes and sweets that usually ended up in the children’s pockets. He had a soft spot for Claudia, and always made sure to bring her cinnamon buns after a social event. Callum probably would have been plied with cakes as well, but Harrow had caught on to the fact that the boy preferred fruit, so he made a point of bringing him something from the orchards any time his duties took him to the countryside.

Sarai sighed quietly, and reached out to touch her dæmon’s paw gently. He licked her cheek and nuzzled in closer. He sent a thought to her, and she relaxed, breathing more deeply and easily.

There was time. Callum wouldn’t stay little forever, and when he was old enough, she could tell him more about Ethan, and he could decide for himself how he wanted to define his relationship with his stepfather. Kaki huffed against her neck with satisfaction as her mind unwound and the anxiety eased; she poked his jaw, smiling when he pulled a wolfish grin at her, and they settled down to sleep.

In the small hours before dawn, Ezran woke up fussing. While Sarai was tending to him, someone knocked on the door, and Harrow got up quickly to answer it. Sarai didn’t notice Callum until Harrow had led him over to the bed; he was pale and shaking like a leaf, and Harrow was bending over him with concern.

“Sweetie?” Sarai held a hand out to him, and he vaulted onto the bed beside her, tucking himself into her embrace with a squeak. “What’s wrong?” Cerys fluttered clumsily onto the covers beside Kaki as a collared dove, and the dhole lowered his muzzle to her; she became a fox cub and snuggled into his touch.

“Scary dream…” Callum mumbled, hiding his face in her night gown.

Sarai was torn between her sons; Callum was scared, and Ezran was fussing as he nursed. He kept unlatching and grouching about it, and she wasn’t sure in that moment how best to split her attention between their needs.

“Here,” Harrow said gently, walking around to her side of the bed and holding his arms out. “Why don’t I see if I can calm him down?”

Sarai handed the babe over, and turned to give Callum her full attention. It was just a very vivid dream, probably fuelled by some of Viren’s more graphic descriptions about magic. She should probably have a word with him about that – Callum was jittery at the best of times, and high-level Dark magic wasn’t an appropriate topic to discuss around the children like that.

Callum cuddled up in her arms, and she rocked him gently, smoothing the hair off his face and murmuring to him, reminding him that dreams couldn’t hurt him, and he was safe here. He lifted his head when Harrow started singing softly from the opposite side of the room, in turn trying to soothe Ezran. Sarai smiled sadly; Ethan had held Callum and sung the same song (albeit a regional variation) before he got sick. She hadn’t told Harrow that. As much as she loved and trusted him, some things were still too painful to voice out loud just yet.

The song had the desired effect on both boys, and Harrow brought a sleepy Ezran back to her arms.

“There we go.” He turned his tired smile to Callum, who flushed shyly and ducked under his mother’s arm. “Feeling better, Callum?”

He couldn’t find his voice, and simply nodded silently. Cerys wriggled around between Kaki’s paws as Epira jumped up onto the bed beside them.

“Would you…” Harrow was very hesitant, looking more at Sarai than Callum. “…feel better if you spent the rest of the night with us?” he looked _really_ sheepish. “That is, if your mother’s all right with it?”

Sarai gave him a wry smile before schooling her expression to turn to her son. “What do you think, Callum?”

He pulled a face. “Please?” he piped up, gripping her arm.

“Of course,” she kissed the crown of his head. “Now then, you all get nice and comfy, while I put Ezran back to bed.”

It took a little while the get Ezran to settle down; he squawked and protested, but she finally managed to get both him and his dæmon to sleep in the crib. She looked up when Kaki let out a soft exhalation that sounded almost like laughter.

“Look.” He said with a grin of amusement.

Callum had curled up against Harrow’s side, not unlike the position she had found them in when she came back from her last meeting, the pair of them conked out completely. Sarai stifled a laugh of her own before standing up and patting Kaki’s ears. They both slid back into bed, and Kaki nuzzled up against Cerys, who had become a dove again and was snuggled into Epira’s neck.

Sarai stroked the back of Callum’s head, and studied Harrow’s face for a long moment before she closed her eyes to go back to sleep.

No, she wasn’t at all against Callum calling him ‘dad’, if he chose to.


	16. Worse Than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 1 Episode 8: While sitting in the dungeon, Runaan has time to reflect in between visits from the Dark Mage. Even though he faces an incredibly grim fate, he refuses to cooperate with the human’s demands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a blurb to this one, so please bear with me; my copy of the Book One novelisation finally arrived recently, and I have to be honest…it was all right, but I was a bit let down by it. The following contains no spoilers, just comments on the writing structure. I reckon it’s still worth checking out, but I didn’t feel like it was well written in a lot of places; things like the conversation just being interspersed with: ‘said Rayla; Callum said; said Ezran; etc’, without any additional descriptions of the tone of the character’s voice or their body language to lend nuance to the scene. I get it’s a different medium to the show, but outside of the internal monologues and thoughts of characters here and there, their personalities really didn’t shine through all that much to me in a lot of passages. That, and there were just enough small changes to certain scenes that it kind of changed the tone in certain places – which isn’t a bad thing, and again, it’s a different medium to play around with – but it potentially alters the flow of the narrative further down the line. A couple of scenes even completely diverged from what was in the show, which jarred a bit to me. As such, I’m choosing to keep this story canon specifically to the show and not any of the novelisations thereof. I did admittedly use the relevant passages in the novel to inform this particular chapter, but dæmons aside I went off on a tangent of my own, and intend to continue to do so in the future.

How much time had passed, Runaan did not know. The only indication he could have had in this forsaken room was the slow waning of the moon, the gradual lessening of its influence high above this wretched basement. But even that was getting harder to keep track of.

Runaan lifted his head and looked at his dæmon in the opposite corner. She was chained to the wall, much like he was. In an uncomfortable position, and _just_ at the extreme edge of their bond. They had been trained to endure, to accept pain and discomfort without complaint, but this was testing them both to their absolute limits.

Fatigue dragged at Runaan from having his arms suspended above his head at this angle for so long, and his separation from his dæmon pulled at their heart, leaving them feeling nauseous to their core. His skull throbbed terribly where his horn had been broken, and he thought he could feel an infection beginning to creep in. The Dark Mage’s daughter had sponged off the blood with a wet rag, but hadn’t given him any medicinal attention.

The blood ribbon tightened painfully, squeezing his arm again.

Ayla lifted her head off the floor to look at him as Runaan closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. If he lived through the Dark Mage’s threats, and the lack of sustenance, either the necrosis or the infection in his horn would kill them. He felt her concern bleed into his conscious stream of thoughts, and he opened his eyes to look directly into hers. Ayla crouched on the cold stone floor, much like he was, and gazed steadily back, completely immobile.

Then, she flicked an ear, and looked away, stone faced to hide her sorrow. Her heart ached for Ethari and Kamaria, as well as Rayla.

Runaan closed his eyes and bowed his head as his dæmon’s thoughts trickled into his mind. They didn’t speak out loud, but they silently communicated through their link, to avoid any eaves droppers. The one consolation Ayla could offer was the thought that, if the Prince lived, and was still carrying the egg of the Dragon Prince, then Rayla was probably alive as well. Runaan had to take another deep, calming breath at this thought, and scowled when Ayla sighed heavily out loud, and lowered her head as close to the floor as her bonds would allow. She usually liked to lay her chin on her paws while she dozed – it irked her that she couldn’t do that now. The thick collar inlaid with spikes around her neck didn’t help matters, either.

Rayla’s betrayal stung. And the longer he sat here, the more Runaan could see it was partly his fault. She had been far too young, he had pushed her too far with her training – Ethari had been right about her, as he seemed to be about everything to do with people. Her heart wasn’t balanced right for an assassin. And in the wake of what had happened to the Dragon King, he knew now that he should not have brought her with them. Emotion clouded judgement, made one prone to miscalculations and mistakes; Rayla had been so deeply hurt and angry at her parents, that it was little wonder she had disobeyed orders.

That, and Ethari was right. Ayla bowed her head and let out a humourless, guttural little chuckle. Runaan’s mouth twitched up slightly at the corner. A laughing three eyed night fox was unnerving enough to the casual bystander – one laughing so in a dark room must have been terrifying. Maybe that would have wiped the smirk off the human’s face. He shook his head and sifted through their collective thoughts.

And the more he thought, the sadder he felt. Rayla was the spitting image of her parents; brave, reckless like her father, and quick-witted like her mother…

Rayla wasn’t a dealer in death – she was a protector. Ethari had never said it outright, but Runaan could see so clearly now that that was what he had meant, that he thought Runaan was pushing her down the wrong path, and because she idolised him, she bent over backwards to make him proud. He had pushed too hard, and she had cracked under the pressure. Now four of his best colleagues were dead, he soon would be, he had no idea where Rayla or the egg were, and the Prince of Katolis still lived.

Ayla sighed and tried to get into something approaching a comfortable position. She turned her face aside, and silently asked Runaan to stop thinking this over. How many times had they done this since they had been chained up? There was nothing to be gained from picking over and chewing on these bones again; the meat was gone, and the marrow extracted. All it did was make the ache inside even worse.

So Runaan attempted to meditate, to accept the situation and all its unpleasant sensations simply as they were. Ayla had no patience for the exercise, and her thoughts distracted him. She was thinking about what the human Mage had said to them before he had left with the food.

“What a beautiful challenge you’ve given me. I must come up with something you _will_ fear, more than death.”

The arrogant swagger to his step and the self-assured smugness in his face, the disdainful airs and conceit in his tone, left Runaan feeling that he was too used to having his own way. The whole charade of politeness with the offering of Xadian food and drink had been nauseating; the human seemed to think he could flatter his way to getting what he wanted. Ayla had snarled aloud at the promise of their freedom should Runaan only cooperate.

Only a fool would believe a promise like that from anyone, let alone a human.

Runaan lifted his head to look at his dæmon when he felt her gaze boring into him. Two emeralds burned in the darkness, reflecting what little light there was to be had in this dungeon.

“This is it.” She murmured softly.

Runaan fought the urge to heave a heavy sigh.

Thinking about Ethari was too painful. When his mind turned in that direction, he was certain that his husband must be out of his mind with worry, now that at most only two flowers were still floating. Potentially only one, if Rayla couldn’t keep one step ahead of the Princes.

This was, indeed, _it_.

They would die down here, almost certainly. The Dark mage wouldn’t let them go. And they wouldn’t kowtow to whatever plans the human was trying to enact, so they would rapidly outlive whatever usefulness he had for them.

Not the glorious do or die blaze of duty, or the calm and dignified slip into Oblivion through sleep in his old age that he had envisioned.

Every assassin was trained to deal with this exact situation; they all entered into the profession knowing this was a distinct possibility, _especially_ where humans were concerned. They were prepared and honed to evade capture, taught to accept death as an inevitability of every mission, even for themselves.

When the Dark Mage finally came back, it was night-time; a bare patch of moonlight filtered down through some far-flung shaft through the castle brick work. Runaan sternly ignored Ayla’s morbid amusement at the irony; he felt more like he was being taunted.

Something was being dragged across the stone flagged floor, and the night fox bristled with a barely audible snarl as the human stepped close to her. Runaan didn’t deign to look up until the shadow of the object being pushed towards him fell over his face, blocking the light. The Mage stood before him, calm, cool and collected – greasy arrogance in every syllable of his words; his arms were folded behind his back, and his snake dæmon lifted her head from his shoulder to look at Ayla with open curiosity. Runaan’s own dæmon blinked back balefully.

“In a moment, I will remove this cover, and you will tell me what you know.” He straightened out the sleeves of his robes, speaking lightly as though they were discussing plans for lunch. “Understood?”

 _Patronising bastard_ , Ayla thought, imagining what it would feel like to wring that cobra’s neck between her teeth.

Runaan turned his gaze aside and said nothing. It wasn’t much, but this rebellion was all he had.

The human stepped forward, with an almost jovial flick of the wrist, and knelt before him with a small pouch in his hand. “I’ve brought something that I hope you will find… _motivating_ ,” his little smile was rather malicious.

Runaan scoffed at the sounds from the little bag, jingling in the human’s hand. He looked downward, supressing the urge to laugh. “You’re more foolish than I thought.” Then he met the human’s gaze. “Don’t you know only _humans_ can be bribed?”

From another elf, the gesture would have been insulting, but from a human… Well, what else could be expected?

“Oh, this isn’t a bribe.” Came the airy reply, as he dumped the contents of the pouch onto the floor in front of Runaan. “It’s a threat.” Without breaking eye contact, the human gestured to the pile and said, “Go on. Take a closer look,”

Runaan turned his gaze to what had been in the bag, and his heart leapt painfully in his chest. There were a handful of coins on the stone floor, with images etched into their surfaces; faces twisted in horror and pain. Faces he thought he would never see again – his dear friends, who he had numbed his heart to because their apparent betrayal had confused and perplexed as much as it had hurt him. Suddenly, their disappearance made perfect sense.

Ayla stood up and leaned forward against her bonds, spitting and hissing loudly in alarm and rage. She couldn’t move very far, but she yearned to sink her teeth into the human’s throat and tear it out in revenge.

“You’re a monster,” Runaan hissed.

He had the audacity to smile and shake his head condescendingly. “You’re mistaken. I’m a _pragmatist_.” His dæmon lifted her head silently, tongue flicking out to taste the air. It would be so easy to kill them both if Runaan were able to reach out and grab that snake. He could have crushed her skull with one bare hand – taboo be damned. “Decide, elf.” The human said, putting a more menacing air to his bearing before he stood up and walked away.

Once they were left alone, Runaan turned to Ayla. Without an audience, they both began to fall apart. Runaan was sick to his heart; knowing the fate of those he cared about deeply, hurt far more than the threat now hanging over his head. Ayla whined plaintively, because she had no words to express her sorrow and fear, and the utter helplessness she felt inside. They both spent some time mastering themselves, each going inward to find some semblance of calm. Whatever else, that bastard would not have the satisfaction of seeing them so wholly and completely rattled.

It wasn’t all that long before the Dark Mage came back, and Runaan watched him with a glower as he walked up to the table he had left in front of the shrouded object. He placed a bowl on top of it, and gave Runaan a long, measured look. His tone belied his impatience, though he tried to hide it.

Not much, Ayla thought, but it might be enough to undermine him; emotions clouded judgement and hindered action. They might be able to use it to their advantage.

“Enough brooding, elf. My patience wears thin.” He reached out to grab the shroud, and pulled with an overly dramatic flair so that the object underneath was revealed: a mirror. “Tell me what you know about this relic, or I _will_ seal your fate.”

Runaan gazed at his reflection. He looked awful; pressure necrosis would take his arm before long, he was bruised all over, his long hair unkempt and filthy, and his profile was lopsided from his uneven horns (he was still unused to the change in weight across his head). Then his eyes roamed over the symbols etched around the sides of the frame.

His stomach sank, and his heart leapt into his mouth. Ayla sat up sharply, oblivious to the pain it caused her as the spikes bit deeper still into her neck. Something Lain had let slip years ago, about something in the Dragon King’s possession, something Tiadrin had then told Runaan was deadly serious and to be kept a secret. Something so incredibly dangerous that every Archmage and Arch dragon had had to band together in order to defeat it. Realisation dawned on Runaan that whatever else this human was, he was messing with powers well above and beyond _anyone’s_ capacity to contain. They were all in serious trouble, human and elf alike. Of all the things that had so far happened since his capture, this was the worst and most dire.

“You have succeeded.” He breathed, hoping the human couldn’t read into his fear.

“Oh? _Have_ I?” came the arrogant reply.

Runaan exhaled softly. His mind melded with Ayla’s, both quickly thinking over what they could possibly say to impress upon him the danger he was in without directly giving anything away. If he _did_ know…the possibilities made Runaan’s blood curdle.

“That mirror? You have found something worse than death.”

The Mage’s face contorted with frustration and something inherently wicked. “Then tell me. _What_ is _it_?” he hissed impatiently.

The thought of those coins had rocked Runaan down to his very core. It was a terrible fate to behold; between that and the realisation that this mirror was in the hands of an arrogant, petulant human, terrified him. The chinks in his armour had been slowly widening, and he had grown closer and closer to giving in. The thought of leaving Ethari to grieve for him filled his heart with despair.

But thinking of his husband, his beloved partner who he adored more than anyone or anything else in the world, filled him with a reservoir of strength.

Ethari would be deeply hurt, but he would be kept safe from the greater horror on the other side of this mirror. Runaan looked across the room around the Mage’s elbow to his dæmon, who gazed back levelly, and nodded her head imperceptibly. Consequences on his own head be damned.

For the Silvergrove, for Xadia, and for Ethari, he’d bear this gruelling fate out.

“I will _never_ help you.” Runaan spat resolutely.

“Then you are of _no use_ to me.” The human went to the place where his strange staff was propped, and picked it up. He flicked some kind of mechanism on it, and a faint light was emitted from within as he began to chant something Runaan could not understand.

Bracing himself, Runaan held firm, but as the spell wore on, something felt deeply wrong. His body twisted – his very _soul_ warped within his skin, and it was pure agony to behold.

Ayla screamed, rearing up on her hind legs and straining to reach him, calling out to him, out of her mind with fear. Through her eyes, through the tenuous link that still held between them, Runaan saw himself turning to a shimmering sort of mist, drawn inexorably towards the source of the spell. He tried to pull back, to resist the flow forward, but he had little physical strength left, and the magicks being cast were corrupt and perverted. He held on as long as he could, trying to stay tethered to the physical world – but the Mage just kept chanting the same refrain over and over.

Something slipped in Runaan’s mind, a shift somewhere on some level he could not pinpoint, and he lost what little grip he had left on anything. He threw his head back and screamed in anguish, hearing it echoed and amplified by Ayla’s own voice as she desperately tried to reach him. He couldn’t make sense of anything; he was a being of pure, agonising pain, devoid of anything but the ability to hurt down to the very corners of his consciousness.

When the world stopped moving and shifting, he was still in agony. Sounds and lights moved in the far distance, but he could make no sense beyond the cramped confines of his reality. Somewhere he could feel Ayla, but she had no form or voice, or even a mind of her own to fully form thoughts.

They just were.

Existing, hurting.

Praying for an end to the nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that ending turned out a lot darker than I originally intended for this chapter…’xD honestly that episode scared the hell out of me the first time I watched it.
> 
> I’m currently sticking to the head canon of Lain and Tiadrin were coined, because while its not been EXCPLICITLY confirmed by the plot or the creators so far, I feel like its been so heavily hinted at that at this point it would be a plot twist if they weren’t. Can’t wait for season 4 <3


	17. Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 Episode 2 & 3: While patrolling the perimeter of the Moon Nexus, Rayla is subdued and ambushed by Soren and Claudia. Little do the siblings know, you have to get up pretty early in the night to pull one over a Moonshadow elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this one written for a while now, finally got round to posting xD I’m looking for more suggestions on scenes/characters to write, otherwise left to my own devices chapters will probably become Rayllum centric. Side note: ‘Through The Moon’ has been released in my country, and after the delay with the other books I was gobsmacked when this one arrived on time. I’m aware there’s a massive discrepancy with the release dates for this book across different countries, so while I intend to do some chapters in this AU from the graphic novel, I won’t be posting them for a few months to avoid spoilers.

They found the elf after nightfall, walking along a pathway that looped seemingly around in a wide circle, around what they didn’t know, but it was probably where the princes were being kept.

Claudia and Soren were crouched in the bushes nearby as the elf passed close to them. She had been making regular patrols through the area, and Soren had figured out the pattern and where she was likely to be, so they had hunkered down to wait for her next round. They had a plan threshed out between them, and were now on the brink of executing it.

Constancia raked the ground with her paws, shoulders rolling in anticipation, in case the elf attacked them – but she didn’t seem to have noticed their presence. Soren gripped his sword in its sheath, tense and watchful as his Cia narrowed her eyes at the Xadian dæmon. It was a strange looking bird, like a crow but with fantastical markings along the patches of paler feathers. He sat on one of her horns, eyes alert but thankfully looking in the opposite direction to their hiding place.

Soren turned to look at his sister when she poked his arm, and she nodded meaningfully at the elf. He looked to his dæmon, who flicked an ear at him, and he nodded to Claudia. She nodded her assent, and took the little pipe whistle thing from her pocket. Soren stuffed the special moss she had given him into his dæmon’s ears, and she snarled reflexively at the icky texture, but remained completely silent; Soren covered his own ears with his hands, and looked at Claudia.

Salem stood between her feet as she got up, and added his own power to the spell as she started to play a haunting melody into the night air. Soren heard it faintly through his hands, and while he felt a pull towards the ground, he didn’t feel the instant urge to sleep that the elf did. He watched as she slumped forward, and her dæmon tumbled gracelessly from her horn, slamming into her shoulder and almost unsettling her balance; she had to reach out to the nearby column to keep herself from collapsing as well. Her dæmon landed on the ground by her feet, and shuffled in her wake, wings beating uselessly to get airborne.

The elf turned and moved with something like purpose despite the fatigue weighing her down, and Soren glanced at Claudia. She was frowning, and put more effort into the song and the spell. He looked back at the elf, who had wandered towards a bush. For some reason, she picked a flower – an admittedly neat looking blue rose – before the spell overwhelmed her, and she collapsed in a heap against a large rock on the edge of the path. Her dæmon tried to flap up to sit on her head or her shoulder, but he tumbled down into her lap, succumbing to the sleep spell.

Soren and Claudia cautiously made their way out of the shadows into the full moonlight, and crept towards the elf. Soren checked that Claudia was happy that the elf was completely asleep and had stopped playing before he unblocked his ears. Cia growled deep in her throat, lips pulled back in a snarl, prepared to spring on the bird dæmon if he so much as twitched. Soren reached for his sword, and hesitated.

“Do it,” Claudia urged, looking away from him back towards the elf. Salem stood stock still, nose and tail twitching with badly concealed anxiety and anticipation.

Soren carefully lifted his sword and held it in readiness for a downward slash. It would be a quick dispatch. Then they could find Callum and Ezran. Cia faltered as it crossed both their minds what his father had said to them before they left the capital.

And then, because he was hesitating, Soren took a real good look at the elf, sprawled against the boulder. Very pale skin, bathed in moonlight, with her face framed by locks of snow-white hair; eyes framed by thick lashes, and accentuated underneath by curved lines that tapered to a fine point on her cheeks. Her clothes were practical and light weight, and in colours that very much complemented her skin tone, all dark greens and teals. She was…actually quite pretty, despite her weird pointed ears and those horns sticking out of her head. Her dæmon’s leg was caught on the stem of the rose she had plucked, just as exotic and oddly appealing as his elf despite the awkward angle he had fallen at.

They looked so peaceful. Soren faltered again.

It went against everything in him to attack someone who was defenceless. It was wrong on too many levels for comfort: it was unchivalrous, it was unfair, it was sneaky and underhanded, and it was wrong to stoop down to that level.

“Go on.” Claudia said as he continued to hesitate, poised on the brink of swinging his blade.

“Do it,” Salem added, looking at Cia curiously.

The Alsatian dæmon was starting to tuck her tail between her legs, a quiet whine in the back of her throat.

“What are you waiting for?” Claudia pressed as he shifted his weight and pulled out of his offensive stance. “She’s a _Moonshadow_ elf. And she kidnapped the Princes. You just have to-”

Soren rounded on her, his heart beating frantically in his mouth. “I know! I’ve just never attacked someone who’s sleeping before.” He looked down on said sleeping someone. She looked so small, young, and completely inoffensive…

How was he ever going to fulfil his special mission, if he couldn’t even bring himself to cut down the _enemy_? Soren felt pretty wretched inside, and was incredibly grateful for Cia managing to hide it.

“It doesn’t seem…” he needed to stall, distract – _anything_. If Claudia knew what he was going to do to Ezran, she would flay him alive before he got within fifty paces of the boy. “Sporting.”

Wow, was that a lame excuse.

And Claudia bought it. She gave him a slightly scathing look, eyebrow arched. “You want me to wake her?”

Soren nodded almost imperceptibly, silently thanking her for giving him a way out. He could probably bring himself to take care of the elf if she wasn’t sound asleep.

Still withering, Claudia asked, “And how long do you need her to be awake for it to be ‘sporting’? Ten seconds? Five…?”

Soren looked at the elf again, contemplating his options. He was wishing that Commander Gren had been sent on this mission instead of being locked up in the dungeons.

“One second.” He said flippantly to Claudia.

“Okay! On three,” they both turned their attentions back to the elf on the ground.

Cia rolled her shoulders again, and Salem arched his back with a hiss, watching the crow dæmon closely as he did so. Claudia started counting, reaching into her pocket for something. She never got to three; the elf suddenly sprang, so fast that none of them had time to react. She planted a hand firmly on the ground and lunged at Soren, sweeping his legs out from under him so he landed in a heap with a yell. Cia started barking and gave chase as the crow dæmon lunged towards Salem with a shriek, a whirling mass of dark and pale feathers with sharp talons. Claudia backed up, keeping her dæmon between her feet, and the crow had to swerve aside to avoid colliding with her and then Cia.

“But-” Claudia stammered, startled but quickly reasserting herself as Soren heaved himself to his feet. “How did you resist the sleep spell?”

The elf drew herself up to her full height, and her dæmon swooped dramatically through the air before landing on her horn, his back turned arrogantly towards them so he had to look over his shoulder as he contemplated them. “Ohh, I used this _lovely_ rose to help me stay awake,” she taunted them by closing her eyes and bringing the flower to her nose. With a more concentrated frown she gestured with it, saying, “Hard to sleep with a thorn pokin’ at ye.” She tossed it aside and reached behind her back, drawing two blades so quickly that Soren didn’t catch where the scabbards were. The dæmon bounced in place so that he spun around to face them fully, and cawed loudly with his shoulders hunched.

Soren, never one to be out done, flicked out his own sword, and did as many fancy manoeuvres and moves as he knew to try and intimidate the elf. Cia snarled at his side, and in response to the cawing started to bark even more loudly.

The elf wasn’t overly impressed; she dropped her aggressive ready position in favour of straightening and raising an eyebrow while saying, “Are we gonna fight, or is this a talent show?”

Realising his ploy hadn’t worked, Soren brought his sword up and held it in an offensive stance, ready to strike. “Oh.” Well, maybe an awake elf wasn’t any more sporting than a sleeping one.

The elf snarled, and lunged forward with a flurry of blows that had him retreating. The two dæmons shrieked and roared at each other before engaging in a skirmish of their own. In the corner of his vision, Soren could see his sister watching with alarm as he pushed back and gained more ground. The crow dæmon swooped backwards with another harsh caw, and Cia gave chase with another volley of angry barks. Soren took a particularly powerful swing, which missed and slammed into a tree, momentarily putting his sword out of commission. He spun round, trying to free his weapon, and saw the elf taking a flying leap with both of her blades in readiness to strike. Carefully timing it, he managed to sloppily round house kick her in the gut, and the strike landed heavily. The force of it sent her flying, and by the time she had landed, his sword was free again.

Soren pelted after her, taking a leap of his own to give his thrust more momentum. He _just_ missed skewering her with his sword; Cia was distracted enough by the other dæmon’s harassing trajectory that it bled into Soren’s own concentration, so the elf dodged in just the nick of time.

She retaliated by flinging one of her blades at him as her dæmon followed its deadly arc through the air. Soren blocked the strike with his sword, and flung an arm up defensively so the crow had to divert its flight to avoid him. The sword landed with a _thud_ into the earth, and she simply bounded forth anyway, grabbed it with ease as she jumped over it. He landed another blow that was also blocked, and she landed with a skid that drew lines in the dirt. Soren lunched again, dodging the crow dæmon that made a jab at his face as it flew by, staying just out of Cia’s reach as she jumped high to snap at the tail feathers as they passed her face.

The elf flicked her wrists, and suddenly she was holding two bladed hooks instead of swords – Soren had never seen anything like it. She lunged for his legs, and he stamped down on the blades, pinning them to the ground under his weight.

Out of breath, but _really_ wanting to get his point across, he said between pants, “I keep _telling_ people. Sweep the leg is _not a thing_ in sword fighting!”

Her face twisted, and then the ground under him lurched. Cia yelped and ran to stand over her human as the elf knocked him to the ground, and pointed her now again sword blades at him, her dæmon coming to land haughtily on her shoulder. “Oh, any more sword fightin’ lessons? I’m _eager_ t’learn!”

A detached part of Soren’s mind, the part that had thought she was actually kinda pretty, noted the lyrical quality of her accent, the way she spoke the vowel sounds. If they weren’t fighting to the death it might have even sounded pleasant. His gaze flickered to the trees, where Claudia’s pale, anxious face came into view.

“Soren!” she cried out, and the elf turned in her direction reflexively.

He seized the moment and sprang to his feet, tackling the elf and running a few paces before throwing her into a big puddle of mud next to where Claudia was standing. She landed in a heap, twisting and struggling to keep her balance, and Claudia threw a small bottle of something over the twin blades that were being held to shield her from attack while she tried to right herself.

As the elf got to her feet, rounding on Claudia, the mage started to speak in that strange, grating tongue that unlocked dark magic, eyes glowing. Salem arched his back and yowled, springing when the crow dæmon launched itself at him with a shriek. It grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and they tussled with each other as Cia came hurtling to the rescue, slamming her head into the bird so that it went careening sideways, narrowly missing Claudia’s boot. Cia stood over Salem defensively, barking like crazy. She lifted a powerful paw and smacked the bird again so it landed at the edge of the mud pool in a daze.

By that point, Claudia had completed the spell, and the Xadian swords burned brightly for a moment before the elf dropped them with a yelp into the mud. She tried to soothe her burnt hands and Soren got himself into position to strike.

“Any last words? Elf?” he spat the last word like it was dripping in bile, and prepared for the death blow.

The elf’s gaze flicked for a moment. Her dæmon managed to get airborne and landed clumsily on her shoulder, tail caked with mud. “Does… ‘hot mud’ count as a word?” she asked, a smiling pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

Quick as a snake, the elf kicked her right leg up, bringing an arc of scorching mud with it that hit Soren in the face with a yelp. It got in his mouth, on his tongue – it was both painful and disgusting. Oh, she was _so_ going to get it now! Screw chivalry-

“Stop!”

Soren whipped around to find Callum running towards them, wide eyed, stumbling over his own two left feet as per usual.

“Callum?” Claudia called questioningly, as surprised as Soren felt to see him pelting head long towards them.

He planted himself firmly between Soren and the elf, Cerys fluttering on his shoulder in a state of panic. To Soren’s surprise, she was cooing to the elf’s dæmon, who cocked his head to one side, flapped up to the elf’s horn, and cawed back soothingly.

“Don’t fight each other!” Callum continued. “You’re _not_ enemies,”

The elf exploded at him, “Your friends tried t’ _kill_ me!”

“She _kidnapped_ you!” Claudia shouted over the elf, with Salem yowling his assent.

Angry and still suffering from the whiplash of Callum’s entrance, Soren threw his penny’s worth into the discussion. “Threw mud in my face, and some got in my mouth!” he spat some more out to prove his point. Cia barked again angrily, and Cerys tried to placate her with another coo.

“Okay, okay!” Callum said, arms still raised to still everyone’s weapons. “Knock it off a second. Just let me explain,” he drew himself up to his full, and not very considerable height. “First of all, Claudia and Soren, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I’m really glad to see you.”

The words hadn’t completely left his mouth before the elf started on him. “Are you _kiddin_ ’? They _attacked_ me. _How_ can you be glad-?!”

Callum did that thing where is spoke over someone without using words to calm them and get their attention. Soren didn’t like admitting it, but it was an effective tactic that Callum used quite well.

“Yeah, they’re two of my oldest friends, and I _am_ glad to see them.”

The crow dæmon gave a derisive caw at this, and Cerys fanned her wings in agitation. Soren blinked. They…knew each other well enough that…their dæmons’ were using non-verbal communication? Wow. That was unexpected.

“But _not_ ,” Callum went on, turning back to Soren and Claudia, “glad to see you trying to murder my new friend, Rayla.” He gestured at the elf, who apparently had a name. “Who, happens to be-”

“She’s an _elf_!” Soren exploded at him. Even Callum wasn’t so stupid that he couldn’t _see_ that, surely?!

He had that wide eyed, dumbass look on his face as Soren railed at him. “But, a _good_ elf,” he interjected once Cia had stopped barking.

The elf in question scowled and rounded on Callum as well, dæmon hissing menacingly with his wings outspread. Callum flinched, but Cerys barely batted an eyelid (or whatever it was birds had).

“What do you _mean_ : ‘But a good elf’?” Rayla demanded mockingly, putting on a weird accent that didn’t sound remotely Katolian.

Claudia pitched into the argument. “She kidnapped you _and_ Prince Ezran. _How_ can she be _good_?” Salem hissed again with a yowl, and it looked like the elf’s dæmon was going to launch himself at the cat again.

Cerys made an urgent noise a bit like a shriek, and the crow instantly backed down. She fluttered and swooped down to land on the ground beside Salem, who obligingly sat down on his haunches and licked her neck, overtly relieved that they were both unharmed.

“There was no kidnapping,” Callum explain clearly and carefully. “We went with her by choice.” He gave her that silly smile of his when he got self-conscious, rubbing at his neck as he added, “Listen, it’s late.” Callum turned and without a second thought helped the elf – Rayla – out of the steaming mud puddle. “Let’s all just get some rest and cool off.” Once she was free, he turned back to the others and said, “If in the morning, I can’t convince you that we’re all on the same side here, you can fight each other then. Agreed?”

The elf looked as unimpressed and unconvinced as Soren felt.

“Fine.” She said dully, acquiescing to the Step-Prince’s wishes grudgingly.

“Fine.” Claudia echoed the sentiment, placated mostly because Cerys was grooming Salem’s ruffled fur.

“Whatever.” Soren snapped, sheathing his sword. “Guess we’ll kill you in the morning.” He added menacingly.

“ _That’s_ more like it!” Callum said jovially, steering them both away from Rayla before another argument could break out.

Damn the brat for being so calm and in control and _princely_. Soren had enough issues with the kid, without the extra layer laid on by his father…

“Come on, I’ll show you where you can stay tonight.”

Well, at least a roof over their heads and maybe even a pillow was better than sleeping rough. Even if it meant sleeping in an elven dwelling. Behind them, Soren heard the elf sigh heavily, and glancing over his shoulder confirmed that she was squelching around in the mud looking for her weapons. The dæmon on her horn bounced in place, about turning to fix Soren with a steely gaze, and he sneered back, going to pat his snarling dæmon’s head before he fell into step behind Callum. There was still some mud in his mouth, _somehow_. He spat it out, deciding that he was never going to let any of them forget this.

“That was very confident, Callum.” Claudia complemented him.

Cerys quivered and flapped clumsily to his shoulder, tucking herself into the crook of his neck away from her where Claudia couldn’t see. But of course, Salem saw, and it put a jaunty spring in his mincing step.

“Oh, yeah?” Callum flustered nervously. “Uh…I guess?”

Claudia chuckled fondly, before she swooped in with that motherly concern of hers to try and tame his unruly mop of bed head hair. “Even though your hair’s a little messy,”

Soren didn’t need to be able to see the idiot’s face to know what kind of expression he was pulling. He had _such_ a crush on Claudia, it was nauseating. And she just strung him along with a warm and knowing smile, not really egging or inviting him on, but not dissuading him either.

Soren made a noise of disgust, as he had done so often in the past over those two, as Cia tossed her head in a similar gesture. They both froze and turned to look at the elf, who had made just about the same ‘ugh!’ sound as Soren. They scowled at each other, and the crow dæmon made a low, antagonistic noise at the back of his throat. He pulled himself upright from the hunched stance he had taken when Callum called over his shoulder.

“Cornix, what did we just talk about?”

The dæmon hissed at him and took flight, making a broad arc around their group. Soren scowled at the elf, who likewise scowled back, and they trudged on after Callum and Claudia.

It didn’t sit right with him, what his father had asked him to do. Callum was a doof and all, and Soren had been just a bit jealous of him for years because of the way Harrow treated him – so unlike the way Viren treated Soren. Callum never even had to _try_ to get his stepfather’s attention and affection – it made Soren feel rather small and insignificant at times. But despite all that, Callum was a genuinely nice person; wouldn’t hurt a fly, was pretty talented even if it wasn’t in the conventional Princely way.

A soft-hearted Prince would make a soft-hearted advisor. A soft heart would lead to weak decisions…

How the hell was Soren ever going to go through with this mission? A mission that his father insisted was for the good of the whole kingdom. Soren closed his eyes, teeth gritted, and silently begged Cia to not whine any more loudly – he didn’t want the elf to see any signs of weakness in him, and he did _not_ want Claudia to notice his distress and drag the reason out of him.

What was he going to do?


	18. Written In The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Post Episode 1: Their first night camped in Xadia, Rayla teaches Callum about Moonshadow constellations. After they settle down for the night, the two dæmons have a conversation of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this update, I have reached the end of my bank of finished chapters for this AU. I’ve been busy recently, and for the last couple of weeks had a bit of writer’s block, so I haven’t been writing a lot. I have a few unfinished drafts floating around, and a nice well organised to do list, but the frequency of updates on this story is likely to be affected in the foreseeable future.
> 
> I’d also like to add that almwolfhunter07 drew an amazing picture of Cerys and Cornix, and very kindly shared a link for it. I would like to once again say thank you, it’s an awesome piece of work and I am both honoured and flattered that you used your artistic skills to draw something from my story :) here’s the link: https://twitter.com/archypuppy/status/1307434768980742153?s=19

The first night they spent in Xadia, Callum was fidgeting. After their run in with Sol Regem, when they’d had a chance to catch their breath, he had been wide eyed at everything. Absolutely _everything_.

Cornix had watched with detached fascination at the boy’s eagerness to start learning absolutely all that he could. Every few minutes he had another question, every other mile Rayla had to drag him by the collar back onto the path. With the glowy cube thing in his hand, Cornix predicted tiredly to Rayla that Callum would be even worse when they got to the woods beyond the canyon.

By the time the sun was setting, they hadn’t quite reached the deep woods, though they were out of the canyon now, so they stopped to make camp. Supper was a meagre handful of the dwindling rations Captain Villads had given them, and the berries that Rayla could rustle up on short notice, most of which she gave to Zym.

The two dæmons hunkered down on a low branch near the patch of grass the human and elf had curled up on, Zym wedged firmly between them for safety and reassurance. Callum was still buzzing despite the long day, the long trek beforehand, and the current stillness of the night. Cornix cocked his head to one side, and then looked at Cerys beside him; he poked her neck, and she cooed grumpily at him, eyes closed.

Below them, Callum turned his head to look at Rayla, who had her back turned to him as she attempted to doze off.

“Hey,” he murmured, slowly rolling over and sitting up straighter. “Hey. Hey, Rayla,”

Cornix gave Cerys a flat look, and the dove sternly ignored him.

“Are…are you still awake?” Callum half lifted a hand, like he was intending to poke Rayla in the back but at the last moment thought better of it.

On the ground beside him, Rayla’s brow was becoming more deeply furrowed with every word he spoke.

“I’m whispering, so I don’t wake you, but if you _are_ awake, then I thought, maybe-”

“I’m _awake_!” Rayla snarled, pulling herself into an upright position and rounding on him with a really unimpressed look.

Callum flailed for a moment and over balanced so that he sprawled across the grass. “Oh good! What’cha doin’?” he asked, putting on a dopey, innocent smile that Cornix knew made Rayla’s heart flutter, despite herself.

Rayla narrowed her eyes at him and leaned forward menacingly, making it harder for him to sit up. “I was _tryin’_ to _sleep_ ,” she said pointedly, tone dripping with sarcasm as she reached between them to stroke Zym’s ears as he snuffled in his sleep. “But I guess _not anymore_.”

Callum shuffled back a bit so he had the space to sit fully upright without falling over again, and drew his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs, and lifted his gaze to the sky above. Cerys sighed beside Cornix, and rearranged her wings; he fixed her with a beady look, and the dove dæmon gave him a gentle expression before she rolled her eyes at her human below them.

“The stars are so bright!” Callum said, with that smile of his, and his eyes wide with wonder and delight.

“Yeah,” Rayla ran a hand through her hair, and rolled her eyes as she leaned back down on the ground, tucking Zym into her side and pillowing her head on her free hand. “It’s beautiful.” She caught Cornix’s gaze, and grinned at him. They were both so happy to be back in Xadia, after all the times they thought they might not make it home. Of course, Rayla agreed with Callum’s sentiment, she just didn’t want him to think she was soft or pliant or easy to persuade.

Cornix thought she was the bigger idiot of the two, most days.

“I can’t believe we’re in Xadia,” Callum went on, rocking slightly on the spot, like he was too keyed up with excitement to stay still for long. “Even though we’re…kind of in a _totally_ different world,” he did that thing where he gestured emphatically with his hands, looking between them as though the words he wanted were inscribed on his sleeves. Then, he looked up at the sky again, wrapping his arms around his legs. “The sky is still the same.”

Cornix closed his eyes for a moment. Rayla’s heart was skipping as she looked at this dumb human they hadn’t been able to shake off for the last few weeks. He was sitting with his knees to his chest, ankles crossed, hugging his legs as he gazed up at the starry firmament above them, completely captivated.

Callum was everything they had thought humans were incapable of being: compassionate, full of wonder and integrity, honourable…

Rayla sat up a bit, leaning her weight back on one arm as she brought her other hand up to smooth the hair off her face. Then she played with a couple of the locks, twisting them around her finger, and Cornix mentally berated her for being so transparent.

“That’s…poetic, Callum.” She said slowly, trying not to smile.

Callum beamed and sat up straight, reaching an arm out to point into the sky. “Look, you can see the Great Soup Ladle.”

Rayla blinked in surprise. “The _what_?” she blurted out.

Cornix poked Cerys’ neck, and she boxed him back with her wings.

Callum smiled at Rayla, and pointed again. “That set of stars right there – the five stars with the three, and the other two?”

Rayla shuffled closer to him, bringing the snoozing Zym with her, and settled by Callum’s side, following his gaze and his waving hand; above them, their dæmons also looked skyward.

“Oh yeah,” Rayla said vaguely, mouth twisting to try and hide her cynicism.

“Just put them together and,” he gestured with a grin as he said, “ _Shwoop_! Soup Ladle!” Rayla was looking at him like she believed he had lost his mind, and he was getting used to that look being levelled at him every other day. Undeterred, he asked, “Don’t you have constellations in Xadia?” he leaned towards her, and bumped their shoulders together, his arms still wrapped around his legs.

“Yeah, we _do_ ,” Rayla retorted, looking up at the sky again for a moment before turning her full attention back to Callum as he unfurled himself and came to rest sitting cross legged, hands on his knees. “But we don’t look at those stars and see a big spoon!” she gave him a sardonic smile, and resisted the urge to reach out and poke his nose.

“So what do you see?” Callum asked earnestly.

Did he never stop seeking answers to inconsequential questions? Cornix looked to Cerys, who sighed indulgently and rolled her eyes again and shook her head with loving frustration and resignation.

“Garlath the Annihilator.” Rayla said offhandedly with a casual little shrug, like it was the most simple and obvious thing in the world. And with the express intent of winding Callum up. Cornix passed that sentiment on to Cerys, who rolled her eyes at the lot of them and settled down onto her part of the branch with a soft coo.

“Oh! Oh, okay. Neat,” Callum recovered himself and leaned his elbows on his knees, casting around in the sky for another one.

Cornix deflated, and closed his eyes when Cerys cooed to him questioningly. When he didn’t react, she poked his neck in a friendly gesture.

“Err, what about over there?” he pointed. “We call that the Feisty Crabs. See the big ol’claws?” he raised his hands like pincers and made a series of strange clicking sounds with his tongue. Rayla raised an eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh, and then rolled her eyes at the really shy, self-conscious way Callum smiled at her. “Those…those were claw sounds?” he tried quietly as he met her gaze.

Rayla reached out and ruffled up his already messy hair. “Dummy.” She told him, rolling her eyes again, with such exaggeration that it rolled her whole head. Trailing a hand out to point at the stars in question, she said, gesturing with her own hands for emphasis, “Those are Garlath’s Fists of Revolution. The Left one is the Fist of Vengeance, and the right one is the Fist of Revenge.”

It was Callum’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “There’s…a difference between vengeance and revenge?”

Rayla grinned unrepentantly, and bumped her arm against his as she leaned closer, looking at him side long over her shoulder. Chuckling, she said, “Oh yes. The distinction is _really_ Garlath’s specialty,”

Cerys turned her head slowly to look at Cornix while Callum scanned the heavens again. “She is joking…isn’t she?”

It was Cornix’s turn to sigh and shuffle around. “I wish she was…” he lamented, knowing that Rayla was getting ready to really wind Callum up, and knowing he was powerless to stop her. That, and Callum always managed to blunder into any kind of verbal trap she could possibly set for him.

“Okay,” Callum mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, err…what about _that_ one,” he pointed, and Rayla leaned over his shoulder as she squinted to find what he was looking at. “The one that looks like a sled. We call it The Sled, it’s _clearly_ – it’s a sled,” he insisted.

Cornix snickered to himself, and leaned against Cerys when she snuggled closer to him. “Graspin’ at straws, lad.” He croaked quietly.

“Shush, you.” Cerys murmured back.

Rayla’s smile was rather smug. Ignoring the two dæmons above, she said with absolute relish as she traced lines between the stars Callum was desperate to keep benign and inoffensive, “Nope! It’s Garlath’s Blade of Sunderin’,”

Cerys tilted aside a little, and cocked her head to appraise Cornix. “Seriously?”

Cornix cawed back. “Your human better keep his trap shut if he doesn’t want to get traumatised.”

Cerys gazed down at her human for a long moment, and then slowly brought it back to the crow beside her. “I’ve been trying for nearly fifteen years to keep that idiot in check.”

Cornix snickered again, and Rayla tossed a stone in their general direction to make him shut up. “Try nearly _sixteen_.”

Callum’s smile was fading as he ran out of straws to clutch. In a rapid, quick fire round, Rayla shattered his perception of that beautiful night sky, and Cornix continued to internally laugh alongside her at his expense. Cerys fluttered her wings and rolled her eyes, and eventually just ignored the lot of them.

“The Smiling Bunny?”

“Garlath’s Bandolier of Skulls.”

“The Two Fish Who Are Friends?”

“Garlath’s Well of Poison Thorns.” This one in particular Rayla recited with glee.

“So- so I’m sensing that Garlath kind of owns the night sky, but, what about those two over there?” he gestured to show Rayla. “The Momma Banther, and the Baby Banther. They’re adorable!”

Cornix cackled with laughter, which only increased in volume as Callum shot him an annoyed look from his place on the grass below.

“I’m scared.” Cerys said dully.

“Callum’s the one who should be scared.” Cornix sniggered.

“Hold me.” Cerys closed her eyes and shuddered theatrically.

Cornix made a sound a bit like, “N’awww!” and rubbed his head and beak along her wings and neck in a show of solidarity, enjoying it when she nuzzled into his touch.

“Oh yeah, you’re right. _That’s_ not Garlath.” Rayla said airily, reeling Callum in for the deathblow.

He beamed. “Really? Great! What is it?” he asked in a rush, wide eyed and still enthusiastic.

With a wicked grin, she leaned up against Callum’s side, fluttering her eyelashes at him and enjoying how much wider his eyes became at the gesture. “It’s a pile of Garlath’s broken enemies.” She sat up straight again, drawing away from him, and pointed at the constellation. “See?” she brought her hand down to scoop up the little dragonling between them and cuddle him more securely in her lap.

Callum blinked rapidly, mouth working like a fish out of water, and Cerys sighed with exasperation.

“They’re _clearly_ bein’ crushed beneath Garlath’s Boot.” Rayla shrugged offhandedly, and leaned against Callum’s shoulder again, looking up at him with feigned innocence. “We _do_ call it his Merciless Boot of Crushin’.”

“Yeah, yeah, got that. That makes sense…” Callum was _still_ casting around the sky for something.

“Does he _never_ give up?” Cornix asked quietly so that he wouldn’t be heard by the two idiots below.

Cerys gave him a look that spoke of the long years she had been putting up with Callum’s nonsense.

Cornix cocked his head as he looked down on them again. “Heh. Tenacious lil’scamp, ain’t he?”

Cerys leaned her head right back. “Ugh. You don’t know the _half_ of it…”

Callum sighed, and unfurled his arms from his legs. Stretching them out before him, he leaned back on one hand, and traced lines through the sky to their right as he searched for something else. “All right, all right. Let’s try something different.” He paused, brow furrowed. “What about that,” he jabbed his finger emphatically, like he was _sure_ he had found what he was looking for this time. “It’s the brightest star in the sky. It’s a _single_ point of light. We call it the South Star. Humans use it to navigate, y’know – to find their way in the endless darkness of the night.”

Listening to Callum, Cornix could see that he would become a brilliant diplomat and advisor to his brother. The boy was just so engaging, enthusiastic, and his poetic tendencies never felt forced or contrived (even if they were unbelievably cheesy). And despite Rayla’s teasing, he was really trying to learn more about Xadian culture, and sharing his own with her. Cornix softened as he felt Rayla warming to him, considerably and all over again. It almost, _almost_ broke her heart to crush Callum once more.

Almost, but not quite.

“Uhhh…” she pulled a face, not really wanting to hurt his feelings, but not wanting to lie to him either.

Callum’s face wore the kind of expression it might when he was dealing with Ezran. Somewhere caught between amusement, resignation, and deep affection. “Rayla just tell me.” He prompted as he looked her full in the face.

Trying to keep her laughter under control as Callum’s face fell, Rayla explained, “That’s Garlath’s Furnace of Souls where Garlath sends the spirits of his enemies to burn for all eternity.” She gave him a brilliant smile as Callum threw his hands up in defeat and rubbed at his eyes with a groan.

“I’m sincerely sorry that he asked.” Cerys said loudly so that Rayla could hear her clearly, and fixed the elf with a look when Rayla beamed up at her.

“We _do_ also use it to navigate,” she added brightly, like she was trying to take the sting out of her words, and knowing it would just have the opposite effect. She giggled when Callum flopped back onto the grass with a sigh.

“I’m done. I can’t take it anymore. I surrender.” He batted her hand away when Rayla leaned over and poked him in the ribs. “Hey!” he squeaked with surprise.

Rayla unhelpfully pointed and laughed at his expense, wiping a tear away from the corner of her eye as she failed to get herself under control. They both quieted down and stopped mucking about when Zym woke up with a soft yawn and a few sleepy yips.

“Ohh, did we wake ya, Zym?”

“N’aww, you feeling sleepy?” Callum obligingly lifted the little dragon off of Rayla’s lap and snuggled him into his arms like a baby. “Hey little guy,” he rubbed Zym’s ears as the dragon yawned widely in his face, and collapsed in Callum’s arms, tongue lolling.

Both Callum and Rayla chuckled as they looked down at the baby dragon in his arms. Cornix sifted through Rayla’s thoughts as it struck her that Ezran had been hogging all the cute dragon cuddles to himself for so long. It was kind of nice to see Callum cradling Zym in his arms like this.

“I guess we should call it a night.” Callum said gently, pressing his cheek against Zym’s mane, giving the dragon a tender look.

“Yeah, probably. It’s still a long way to go, yet.” Rayla agreed, tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling at Zym.

They settled down again to sleep, and for a while it was quiet. The teens were ready for sleep, but their dæmons were still mulling thoughts over in their minds.

“Huh.” Cerys breathed eventually, and Cornix turned to look at her. She blinked her eyes slowly at him, and he lifted his head, tilting it to the side questioningly.

“What?” he prompted when she didn’t say anything.

Cerys fanned her wings and looked down at the people below. Callum was flopped on his back with Zym sprawled over his chest, a hand resting on the dragon’s wings. He looked peaceful, but not asleep – Cornix guessed that he was meditating. Rayla was lying on her side with her back to Callum, close to his side. She wasn’t asleep either, but dozing, and drifting closer and closer to sleep with every minute that trickled by. Neither of them were paying their dæmons any attention right now, so Cornix turned his full and undivided attention to Cerys. She was pensive for a bit longer, and he waited relatively patiently for her to speak.

“Your people say that humans are the cutthroats, lusting after blood and destruction.” She lifted her gaze to meet Cornix’s wryly. “And we’re the ones seeing smiling rabbits in the sky, while you see a field of death and devastation wrought by just one of your Gods?”

Cornix chuckled to himself. “Only Moonshadow elves do. I know other elves have different constellations…”

Cerys hummed and ruffled her wings again, and looked up at the sky, watching the stars spinning high above them, slow and inexorable. Cornix looked at the collared dove beside him instead. He was intensely curious, and he rarely if ever had a moment to talk just to Cerys without their people or Ezran and Kalila over hearing.

“What’s it like?” he asked, and she turned to him questioningly. “Inside his head? Callum isn’t like anyone we’ve ever met.”

Cerys chuckled, shoulders shaking and head bobbing as she regarded her human fondly. “I suppose…hmm, how to describe it…?”

Cornix had meant it as a joke, but he was intrigued by her response. It was rather typical of the pair of them, to take such questions so seriously. It made Cornix feel warm inside – and though Rayla was sinking into a contented stupor, on the cusp of sleep, it warmed her too. So much so, that when Callum rolled over onto his side, she turned in his direction, ending up on her back, pressed up against him, with Zym safely wedged between their bodies.

“Busy.” Cerys said eventually, still looking at Callum. “A lot of the clumsiness is because he’s only half aware of his surroundings. He’s _always_ thinking of something else. And he can’t have just one thought, it’s always branching out into another set of thoughts. And when he _does_ get an answer to his question, he has a thousand new questions.”

Cornix blinked. “How do you stay sane?”

Cerys lowered her head and laughed softly. “I’m not sure that we do.” She said, incredibly gently. “Callum’s always been so bad at all the things everyone expected of him as a Prince. Harrow tried to let him just _be_ him, as much as possible. So, he can draw, and read, and his critical thinking skills are top notch. If I do say so myself,” she fluffed herself up with immeasurable pride. Then she tilted her head and looked at Cornix side long. “What about Rayla? What’s it like inside her head?”

Cornix sighed dramatically and rolled his whole head to add to the sentiment. “She never stops movin’. And when she sits still, she’s _thinkin’_ about movin’.” He sighed, thinking about something Ayla, Runaan’s dæmon, had once said to him. In his mind’s eye, he saw the three eyed night fox, dark fur and flashing eyes, looking down on him sternly. “She really struggles to find balance in…well, in anythin’.” He admitted, lowering his gaze as Cerys continued to look at him. “She might give somethin’ _way_ too much thought, and then she hesitates – gets paralysed, even. And then, other times, she just throws herself in headfirst without a plan. And _I’m_ left to pick up the pieces.” He hammed up his exasperation. But not by much.

Cerys gave him a bright look. “In Xadia, are dæmons considered a person’s conscience?”

“Kinda…I guess?” Cornix replied uncertainly. “I’ve been told so many times to keep Rayla on course.” He sighed dramatically, looking up at the twinkling stars above. “Never works. She won’t listen to anyone. _Especially_ me.”

Cerys laughed again. “My Callum’s far too busy to pay attention to me. Wondering how and why a butterfly can fly, or why it has to start life as a caterpillar. Or why is the sky blue? We know about light refracting and all that, but _why_ is it _that_ particular shade of blue?”

Cornix joined in with the laughter. “Or ‘why can’t I get my paints to match that _exact_ shade?’” he laughed harder when Cerys drooped.

Picking herself up primly, she looked out over the expanse of grass around them, back to the rocky canyon they had walked through earlier. “Clearly, you’ve spent too much time around us. I offer you my most sincere apologies and condolences.”

Cornix couldn’t help the bark of laughter her words conjured up. He stifled it quickly as Rayla shifted around irritably, dimly contemplating throwing her boot at him. “It’s not _all_ bad.” He said eventually, when he could trust himself to speak.

If Cerys had had eyebrows, he swore she would have cocked one up at him. “Oh?”

Cornix gave her the closest thing to a wolfish grin that a crow could offer. “Maybe we could convince Callum to use his cute lil’wind breath spell to blow away the cobwebs in Rayla’s head!”

Cerys gave him the flat look he was accustomed to when he and Rayla were larking around. She blinked slowly, _thoroughly_ unimpressed. “You have absolutely _no right_ to make fun of my Callum anymore. You’re even sillier than he is.”

Cornix cackled with quiet laughter again. Still snickering, he added, “They’re both idiots.”

Cerys didn’t deign to reply. She fluffed herself up indignantly and closed her eyes. They didn’t speak for a long while. By the time Cornix did, Rayla was all but asleep, as was Callum, and he was himself so drowsy that all sense of propriety was dormant.

“I’m glad you’re both here with us.” He murmured to the dove beside him, nuzzling up against her lovingly. Had he or Rayla been more compos mentis, they probably would have panicked at how transparent the gesture was.

But he was drowsy, as was Cerys, so neither of them really stopped to think about the deeper implications as she snuggled into his side, tucking her head under his wing.

“So am I.” she murmured softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand the little skits that appear on panels at the conventions are probably not canon, but I really hope that if season 3 gets a novelisation, this scene is at least referenced xD


	19. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Post Episode 5: After leaving the Midnight Desert, Callum and Rayla decide to rest and try to clean Zym up a bit before the final leg of their journey. Rayla confesses something that has been weighing on her mind for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the plots from chapters 3 and 13, as well as shameless Rayllum fan service xD 
> 
> As I stated last week, I’m behind on drafts for this story, but I’ve also encountered a tech problem. Of the kind that could either see my computer belly up on a workbench or simply being replaced depending on the severity of the issue. It’s currently still functioning but requiring a lot of TLC, so I may drop off the radar at some point in the coming weeks.

As the afternoon wore on, the vegetation thinned again with the approach of the heathlands that surrounded the Storm Spire, and they decided to stop for the day. Water would be scarce on the plains, so they found a stream to fill their water bags, and to try and give Zym a bath.

“It would be nice to bring back a squeaky-clean Dragon Prince,” Callum commented, struggling to keep said Prince still in his arms while the dragonling tried to pounce after another butterfly.

“Hmm.” Was all Rayla said as Zym gave an almighty kick with his hind legs and winded Callum. He bounced off happily into the undergrowth while Cerys fluttered and twittered with alarm.

“Zym! Come back!” Callum called, panicking as much as his dæmon.

Rayla could hear Zym perfectly as he scampered around the base of a tree, hidden under some mushrooms, so she wasn’t overly concerned. Cornix flapped by Cerys with what he meant to be a helpful _caw_ , but she continued to flutter in a state of agitation, moaning, “Not again, not again, _not again_ ,”

“Zym?” Callum bumbled around the base of the tree, but Zym had scurried off to investigate the sounds coming from the stream. “Zym? If you jump out now, I promise to laugh,”

Rayla suppressed a laugh. She had been crouched down by the saddle bags, but now that they had stopped travelling for the day she was lounging at her ease. Despite the distance they still had to cover, after everything that had happened in the Midnight Desert, she felt incredibly light-hearted.

“Did that line ever work on Ez?” she asked teasingly as their dæmons flitted through the air in the direction of Zym’s scuffling.

Callum shot her a wry smile. “Would you believe, only some of the times?”

Zym pounced out of the bushes with a happy little yip, lightning crackling from his lips. Callum shrieked, arms flailing both to defend himself and to try and catch the zapping storm dragon. Needless to say, he landed in a heap on the ground, nose to nose with Zym, who grinned wolfishly with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

With the best sardonic smile Rayla had yet seen from him, Callum sat up slowly and lifted him so that they could look each other right in the eye. Zym licked his face eagerly, little tongues of lightning quivering and dancing on contact with Callum’s skin. The dragon’s little talons got hooked into his clothes, and he tried to snuggle closer with a yip. Callum pulled him in for a big hug, and Zym cuddled up against his chest.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Zym,” he said softly, rubbing his ears fondly.

Rayla got up and walked over to them. Cornix swooped out of the tree he had been sitting in with Cerys and landed gracefully on Rayla’s left horn. Cerys herself fluttered down to sit on the grass beside Callum and started grooming the downy tuft of hair at the end of Zym’s tail. Rayla plucked him from Callum’s arms, lifting him up so she could look him right in the eye herself.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she bopped him on the nose. “No wanderin’ off, now. And you _need_ a bath.”

Zym gave her a blank, wide eyed stare.

“You want to be nice and clean when you see your Mum?”

Zym cocked his head to one side and squawked questioningly.

It took a bit more persuasion, but Callum finally got Zym into the stream. Rayla kept an eye on them in between foraging for food and laying a fire. With the stream trampled and churned up under foot, fishing was a moot point, but there were plenty of plants to choose from. Callum offered to help, and Rayla flatly declined on the grounds that if he couldn’t be trusted to not pick toxic plants in Katolis, she wasn’t going to trust him in Xadia, either. He shrugged it off, rubbing the back of his neck, and smiled at her shyly with flushed cheeks when she said, “Wouldn’t want ye t’keel over now,”

Rayla rustled up some edible mushrooms, wild onions, and a selection of berries for dessert. Once Zym had been scrubbed clean, Callum wrapped him up in his blue coat and tucked him up against the Shadowpaw’s side; the mount wrapped his tail around the dozing dragon, and closed his eyes contentedly.

Callum turned to Rayla to offer help with preparing the food, and raised an eyebrow when he found her staring. “What is it?”

Rayla blinked, flushed, and tried to cover it up by being flippant. “Nothin’. Just that under that coat you look even _more_ like a twig.”

He looked down at himself, not for the first time in his life thinking that he was pretty skinny. With a silly little smile, because he _knew_ now that his affections were returned, he plonked himself down beside her, deliberately close enough so that their shoulders touched, and picked up a bundle of long dry grass to help with wrapping up the onions.

“But a cute twig, right?” he hedged, batting his eyes at her.

Rayla supressed a laugh and poked his nose. “A _dorky_ twig, at any rate,”

Callum grinned like an idiot and leaned closer. “I don’t hear you denying it…”

“Put these in the fire,” she tossed him an armful of grass covered vegetables, not bothering to try and hide her smile anymore.

It felt a bit weird, but in a nice way, to openly flirt like this. Callum had lost count of the number of times since they had entered Xadia when he had tried to express his admiration and affection for her, only to have it ignored or rebuffed, or to find the timing completely wrong for it. On a nearby rock, Cornix was rubbing his beak against Cerys’ wings, and Callum felt through her the surge of affection and fondness they had for each other. It was the kind of warm, fuzzy feeling that he had read about countless times in books, had heard people joke about, and assumed was just one of those random, inconsequential phrases. But…that was exactly how he felt inside: warm and fuzzy. Like every fibre of his being, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, was warm and soft, and every time Rayla looked at him with a smile, he melted a bit more inside.

Wow, she was right. He _was_ a complete dork.

If any of his internal ramblings showed on his face, Rayla didn’t pass comment. They stuffed the food amongst the coals to cook, and went about checking their equipment and water skins. Callum faffed around like usual, and absentmindedly reached for the bird shaped shadow in the corner of his vision before realising it was the wrong dæmon. He pulled his hand back quickly, and smiled sheepishly at Cornix, who bounced about face on his rock and fixed the human with his beady stare.

“Sorry,” Callum told him, and then swiped clumsily at Cerys when she flapped up to sit on his head, and pecked at his ears.

“I’m insulted.” She told him simply.

“Oh shush you, don’t even start,” he waved at her again, but she skittered out of the way, and continued to harass him.

While the pair of them were squabbling, Cornix looked to his elf meaningfully, and Rayla heaved a deep sigh. When Callum looked back at them after batting Cerys away, he noticed the shift in their mood, and got up to walk over to her. He hesitated for a long moment, Rayla not meeting his gaze, turned slightly aside, before he brushed the backs of his fingers against her arm.

“You…okay?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah…” she drawled unconvincingly. She looked at their dæmons, who were now sitting side by side on the grass, and something solidified in her expression. “Actually, I have a confession.”

Callum’s heart stopped beating for a long moment, and then began to race. “Oh! Oh, o-okay.”

Rayla pulled a couple of faces as she tried to unstick her tongue and put whatever was weighing on her into words, more often than not avoiding Callum’s gaze. When all else failed, and the awkward silence stretched on into the gathering dusk, she just blurted it out.

“I touched Cerys.”

Callum blinked, for a long moment not registering what she had said.

Touching someone else’s dæmon was a taboo; you just _didn’t_ do it, and from a young age everyone knew that. Your dæmon was an aspect of you, something deeply personal and private, and the aversion to touching another dæmon who wasn’t yours was instinctive. Callum had known from the beginning without having to be told that elves felt the same way just by looking at Cornix and Rayla. So what she had just said came as a shock – you didn’t joke about something like that.

In response to her declaration, Cerys took off from the ground and flew to Callum’s shoulder where she nuzzled into his neck with a gentle coo. She turned her soft brown eyes to Rayla and watched placidly, waiting for an explanation.

Now that it was out in the open, she looked like she wanted to bolt. Rayla didn’t meet his eyes as she stumbled and hurried to explain in a rush, picking at the guards on her arms and wringing her hands.

“It was when you were unconscious, after the- the Dark magic thing, with the dragon.” She swallowed nervously, and glanced Cerys’ way before turning aside, shame faced. “You were out of it, had a fever, and then out of _nowhere_ she just flew up – but then, she fell, and if I _didn’t_ grab her, she’d’ve gone over the edge of the cliff, and-” Rayla pressed the back of her right fist against her mouth, and took a steadying breath. “You’d’ve both died. I couldn’t…” she shook her head, and turned towards Cornix as he flew to her. He landed on her arm and wiped his beak against her shoulder comfortingly. “I couldn’t let that happen. It was wrong, and I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I didn’t say anythin’. I just…” she spread her arms helplessly, unable to look at either of them. “I didn’t know how t’tell ye. There was nothin’ else I could do. I’m so sorry,” her voice sounded so small.

Callum was reeling from this news. He had had no idea just how close to the edge they had been dancing when they had dreamed in that in-between space. Apparently, they had both been in a lot more danger than he had thought. Looking into the twisted, haggard, withered face of the future Dark magic promised had felt fairly perilous at the time, but the danger had been a lot more immediate than he had realised.

Every kid messed around at some point with pulling – everyone tried to see how far they could go from their dæmon. So Callum already knew how excruciating it was to be physically separated from Cerys. And it suddenly made sense, that she had gone from his sight as he fell through the viscous waters, unable to draw breath – maybe she _had_ been gone, physically, which would explain the deep and terrible agony that had accompanied the vision.

As those little pieces of context trickled into place, allowing him to make better sense of the dream he had had, a greater realisation began to dawn on him. Rayla had acted to protect him and Cerys, despite the ingrained aversion to touching another person’s dæmon; he could very well have died without her quick thinking.

And then it hit him. The person he was completely infatuated with, had _touched_ his dæmon, his soul.

Despite their combined shock, Cerys fluttered and rearranged her wings, and looked Rayla full in the face. “Thank you.” She said softly. “I owe you my life.”

“Y’don’t owe me _anythin_ ’,” Rayla said quickly, gesturing emphatically.

Cerys made a quiet cooing noise, and Cornix fluffed himself up in response. Callum smiled at the crow, suddenly remembering with vivid clarity the feel of the dæmon’s weight on his arm, the dig of his claws and the soft brush of his feathers against Callum’s cheek as the soulfang serpent had reared up to strike. He had been defending Callum, just as Rayla had.

Slowly, Callum stepped towards her, bridging the gap between them, and brushed the back of his hand against her left arm. She had been halfway turned from him, but at the contact she took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his gaze. The two dæmons took off and flew in a broad arc around their people, calling to each other amicably before they settled themselves side by side on a tree branch.

“Thank you.” Callum told Rayla, with simple sincerity.

Rayla glanced away, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. This was an emotionally charged moment, and Callum felt a bit bad about how incredibly distracting he found that gesture. It was suddenly very hard to focus when all he could think about was how her lips had felt against his.

“You’re not mad?” She mumbled, looking away from him and their dæmons huddled together on a branch, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Rayla,” he murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’d probably be dead several times over without you and Cornix.” He smiled when she finally met his gaze with a wan smile of her own.

“Yeah, probably.” She agreed, the familiar twinkle of mischief dancing in her eyes.

Callum assumed he was pulling a really sappy, goofy kind of smile, judging by the knowing smirk that pulled her mouth into a lopsided smile as she met and held his gaze.

Hesitantly, because this was new territory and he didn’t know where the boundaries were, Callum lifted his hand to cup Rayla’s face. He ran his thumb tenderly along the curved line that swept down her cheek, his heart beating double time against his ribs. Rayla’s eyes shone in the gathering dusk, and slowly slid from his gaze down to his mouth, just as his thumb brushed against the corner of her bottom lip. He held still, waiting for her to react before he tried to proceed.

Rayla closed her eyes and leaned forward; she smiled against his lips when she felt him hesitate to reciprocate in the first instance. Callum drew back enough that he could look her in the eye, and traced his fingers along the line under her other eye, before he wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her again. He savoured the novelty of being able to express his feelings for her so openly, and basked in her warm response. Her fingers hooked themselves into his shirt at the small of his back, and he ran his own through the ends of her hair. He sighed deeply when Rayla tilted her head to the side, ever so slightly, and deepened the kiss. His hand came back to cup her face gently, and he applied just a bit more pressure to her bottom lip.

The shiver that ran through her body was accompanied by a hitch in her breathing, and Callum reluctantly pulled back. Rayla looked surprised and not a bit disappointed, until he leaned his brow against hers, and gave her a shy smile, still stroking her cheek.

Right now, he was feeling all the fun, new, exciting things his stepfather had described to him: how it felt to fall in love with someone. And Callum understood now what he had meant – the process was something worth savouring, moving slowly to enjoy each moment as it happened. He didn’t want to rush this; just holding her in his arms like this felt wonderful. Gently, Callum kissed her cheek, close to her ear, and buried his nose in her hair, breathing in the soft smell of her, and enjoying the way she nuzzled closer, pressing her brow against his shoulder and giving him a loving squeeze.

Callum was lost in the sensation of her embrace, the warmth of her body, and the sweet feeling of just being close to someone he adored, when Rayla sighed and started to draw back. He let go and took a big step back and stood up straight, concerned he had stepped over a line, and froze when Rayla stared at him blankly.

“I- erm,” he laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, if I made it weird…I- I didn’t mean to hold you for that long.”

Rayla raised an eyebrow, and Cornix swooped seemingly from nowhere with a dramatic flair to land on her horn. He looked sidelong at Callum over his shoulder, blinking slowly and theatrically. “I did.” She said simply with a flippant little shrug before she turned to leave. “The food’ll get burnt,”

“Oh! Right,” Callum blushed and flustered, trying to regain something like composure as Cerys flapped around his head, deliberately batting him with her wing tips. “Don’t you even start,” he muttered to his dæmon under his breath.

Cerys giggled and settled on his shoulder; she nipped his ear affectionately and said, “Your face is as red as my mushroom make up.”

He glanced at the red stains on her feathers, which were starting to fade. “First of all, _no I’m not_ ,” he sniped at her. “And _second_ of all, your disguise is less obvious now. Maybe we should find another mushroom,”

Callum yelped when Rayla clapped a hand on his shoulder and spun him round to face her. “You’re not foragin’ for ‘em.” She said simply, and shoved a steaming, roasted onion wrapped in a big leaf into his face.

“Why not?”

Rayla beamed, and pinched his nose. “Because I don’t trust ye. You’ll poison your dæmon.”

Cerys stretched her wings and neck. “Please could you see to my make up? I don’t fancy dropping from food poisoning within sight of the Storm Spire.”

Rayla gave her a deep, flamboyant, and totally unnecessary bow. “Of course, milady,” she affected a truly awful Katolian accent, and grinned unrepentantly when she came up again and saw Callum’s unimpressed scowl.

“Okay,” he brushed Rayla aside imperiously. “ _You_ , shut up. And as for _you_ ,” he poked Cerys right on the keel, starting towards the campfire. “We are going to have words.”

Something reached out and grabbed Callum’s backside as he passed Rayla, and he shrieked in surprise, fairly jumping right out of his skin. He spun round, and felt the heat rising rapidly in his cheeks when he saw Rayla’s fierce, wild, beautiful grin as she withdrew her hand. She spun on her back leg and sauntered casually towards the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing.

“You’re adorable when you’re startled.” She said insouciantly.

Callum slunk to the fire side and sat down; he was still blushing when Rayla returned with a small green mushroom in hand. She dropped it by his boot, along with one of her swords, proclaiming that it would be best to eat first before he rubbed anymore dye into Cerys’ feathers. When he still stared at his knees, face beetroot red, she gave him a friendly dig in the ribs, and Callum finally turned to look at her shyly.

Rayla leaned back a bit, smiling sardonically, and reached for another onion. They ate in companionable silence, their dæmons flitting back and forth to check on Zym, who was completely comatose after all the excitement of the last two days.

Once Callum had had his fill, he took the mushroom ooze and rubbed it into Cerys’ feathers. He eyed his work critically once it was done, and mused out loud, “I don’t suppose there’s much chance of bumping into anyone on the way to the Spire…”

Rayla shrugged and flopped back against the rock they had built the fire beside, hands behind her head. “Probably not. But then again, we didn’t exactly expect to encounter anyone in the Forest, either.”

Cerys fluttered her wings and fanned her tail, and this time Cornix didn’t bother trying to hide his admiration; he bobbed onto the ground beside her and pecked playfully at her tail as Cerys bounced out of the way with a soft chirrup.

“You only need t’look like an elf from a distance. We’ll be visible for miles around, but so will anyone tryin’ t’persue us.”

“Oh,” Callum pouted. “That means no one will get to see Elf Callum!”

“Probably for the best,” Rayla muttered under her breath as she reached for her water skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Callum countered haughtily, and knew he was barking up the wrong tree when the elf and both dæmons fixed him in place with their stares.

“Callum,” Rayla said, slowly dragging her hand down over her face in a gesture of abject despair. “I hate to break it to ya,”

“No you don’t.” Cornix accused.

Rayla waved a hand at him dismissively. “You didn’t fool anyone with that disguise.”

Callum smiled wryly. “Ethari liked it.”

Rayla gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “He took pity on ye, that’s all. All _we_ need t’do now is get to the Spire and have the human return the Dragon Prince. Pretendin’ t’be two elves at a distance out on a jaunt across the moors shouldn’t be difficult, even for you.”

Callum rolled his eyes, smiling in his defeat.

“What?” Rayla demanded, poking him in the ribs.

Chuckling, he gently moved her hand away and said, “And there I was thinking that you’d ease up on the teasing now.”

As he had anticipated, her responding smile was bright and mischievous. “Nope.” Her smile broadened as she leaned in close, and Callum’s eyes went wide. “It’s gonna get a lot worse,” she said in a low voice before kissing his cheek deliberately. “Consider yourself warned.”

Callum blinked back at her dazedly, his heart fluttering. It wasn’t really the same as when he was anxious about something – this was a really pleasant feeling, and it settled comfortably in his chest as he gazed into her eyes. In the fading light of the setting sun and the dancing glow from their campfire, her violet eyes shone vividly, like two clear cut amethysts.

Cornix lifted his head and ruffled his feathers with a caw. “I’d run, if I were you.” He said simply.

Cerys closed her eyes as she settled herself down where she stood. “Because that worked _so_ well last time.”

Rayla threw her head back and laughed. Callum was used to being the butt of many a joke, but he didn’t mind so much when it came from Rayla; there was never any malice in it, despite her blunt and forthright demeanour. He knew she could be very selective about what she chose to share, what she was prepared to admit she was thinking and feeling – so hearing her laughter, even if it was at his expense, warmed his heart. When she could finally look him in the eye, she offered an apologetic smile, and gave his hand a friendly squeeze.

“Sorry, but you really are the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” She told him simply, throwing a glance Cerys’ way.

“But cute?” Callum tried his luck with a silly smile.

Rayla made a show of thinking it over, folding her arms and tapping a finger against her chin, before grinning at him as she turned to look at Zym, still snuggled up in Callum’s coat. “Nah. I mean, you’re cute, but not as cute as Zym.”

Callum chuckled, holding a hand out to his dæmon as she flew towards him. “That’s fair,” he said light heartedly, rubbing his cheek against her feathers as she nuzzled close to him.

Soon after, they got ready to sleep, scooping up Zym and setting him on Callum’s lap as they curled up together for warmth in the cool night air. Cornix perched on the Shadowpaw’s back and scanned the surrounding woodland, but there was nothing to report. Cerys fluttered up to sit beside him, and nuzzled her beak under his jaw, cooing softly. He fluffed himself up, trying not to look too pleased with her attentions, and they snuggled in for the night.

On the ground, against the moon mount’s side, Callum leaned against Rayla’s shoulder as he manoeuvred Zym in between them. She put a hand on the little dragon’s head, rubbing his ears fondly, and yawned into the back of her other hand before reclining beside Callum. He tilted his head so that he could look up at her, and hesitated for a long time before acting on his impulse. Very gently, he pressed his lips to Rayla’s cheek, giving her a soft and lingering kiss. He drew back unhurriedly, and grinned at the shy smile she gave him in turn.

“Good night,” he said.

Rayla leaned closer, fingers coming up to stroke his face as she kissed his mouth just as tenderly. “’Night,” she murmured.

They settled down for the night, and Callum curled up closer; he ended up on her shoulder, his nose pressed against her neck. Rayla responded to his touch by kissing the crown of his head and pressing her cheek against his hair, the arm she had around him coming up to stroke the hair at the back of his head. They each put a hand on Zym, to comfort the baby dragon and to reassure themselves that he was still there. If Zym was aware of their touch, he was too sleepy to react.

The two teens dozed off in each other’s arms, holding each other close and enjoying the warm little pocket they had created here together. Their dæmons fell asleep, much as they had the previous night, on the ambler’s back; snuggled up against each other’s feathers, utterly content.


	20. Dark Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-season 1: A day in the life of young Rayla; it’s the dark moon, a half day at school, and Runaan’s insisting on endurance training anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer had to go in for repairs and was gone for over a week because it had to be quarantined on the way in and out ‘xD I’m hoping the technical problems my end are sorted now, and with my area in lockdown again I’m aiming to get a bunch of chapters up and ready so I can update once a week again. We’ll see how it goes xD

It was the day of the dark moon, and Rayla didn’t want to get out of bed. She was awake at the usual time for a school day, but the lack of moon in the sky dragged her down under the blankets. Cornix snuggled closer in the form of a singing weasel, and she wrapped her arms around him with a discontented sigh. She smiled when he sent the thought to her that maybe Runaan would let her pull a sickie if she was missing a limb.

“I could turn into a caman. Rip your leg off. Lots of blood,”

Rayla giggled and poked his nose as her dæmon flailed around for a moment, raking the covers with his paws. “He’d make me clean it up on m’one good leg.”

“No moon days _suck_ ,” Cornix lamented, burrowing deeper into the nest of blankets.

Rayla yawned widely and reached down to grab him and pull him up to her chest, where she could cuddle him. “No arguin’ that,” she said glumly, closing her eyes.

Cornix shifted into a starry fox, like her Dad’s dæmon, and nuzzled into her neck. It was nice, warm and comfortable – and didn’t last long.

It started with Ethari gently knocking on her door, and Rayla pretending to be so deeply comatose due to the dark moon that she couldn’t hear him. She winced and dug deeper under the covers when she heard Runaan’s muffled voice on the other side of the door, right before he rapped his knuckles hard against the wood, making as much noise as elvenly possible. Rayla snarled to herself, hands over her ears, and emerged from under the duvet to glare at the door.

“Get up right now, young lady.” Runaan barked.

Rayla heaved herself out of bed, and stalked across the room with Cornix at her heel, assuming the form of a three eyed night fox like Ayla. She pulled the door open and scowled up at Runaan, who gave her an even stare in kind.

“I’m _up_ ,” she grouched at him, pushing past to get to the bathroom.

“Thank you.” Runaan said primly, straight backed and perfectly disciplined – showing her the flawless example of the kind of elf who didn’t complain because of a weakened arcanum.

Rayla relieved herself, washed her face and teeth, and stared at her reflection hard in the big mirror. Her marks were a bit faded, but it was only noticeable if you looked really closely. Runaan had probably noticed already, because he _always_ noticed the little details like that. Cornix perched at the edge of the basin as a little sparrow hawk, with pale grey and midnight blue plumage. He ruffled up his feathers, as indignant and irritable as Rayla was at the prospect of going to school.

After dragging a comb through her hair, Rayla went back to her room to get dressed. She paused when Runaan approached her, and stared at him stony faced when he said, “Endurance training this afternoon. Come prepared.”

Once they were safely locked inside their room, Cornix said heavily, “At least it’s only a half day.”

“Still too long for a no moon.” Rayla griped, digging through her drawers to find something suitable for whatever exercise Runaan had in store for her that she could also wear to school. She found her favourite training jacket, which was teal coloured and smart enough for the classroom, before she went looking for her second-best pair of boots (because the best pair had been taken in for mending).

Cornix bounced around the desk as a squirrel, poking his nose into her pencil box, and the pots she kept the rest of her stationary in, before diving headfirst into her haversack.

“Where’s the textbook for Draconic?” he asked, poking his head over the lip of the bag.

“Err…” Rayla hopped across the room, tugging on her left boot as she scanned the shelves for the missing book. “There,” she nodded at the middle shelf, and Cornix leapt out of the bag before turning into a sparrow. He flitted to the bookcase as Rayla pulled on her other sock, and landed beside the textbook. He shifted into an indigo coloured tamarin and deftly plucked it from amongst the other books, and looked over his shoulder to check Rayla was ready. She wordlessly held out her hands, and he chucked it towards her. “Thanks,” she said, getting up from the floor without using her arms.

Cornix shifted into a crow and flapped over to the chair in front of the desk, and waited for her to join him. She shoved the textbook into her bag, and gave the rest of her things a cursory glance before she buckled the haversack closed. Grabbing her coat off the rack on the wall, she shouldered the door open and made her way to the kitchen. Ethari greeted her with a warm smile and ruffled her hair affectionately, and despite her dour mood, Rayla returned his smile. Kamaria trotted past, and leaned down to nuzzle at Cornix’s hare form; he licked her cheek in response before bounding after Rayla towards the cupboard where the muesli was kept. She rather liked this particular form; Cornix was the grey of pre-dawn, tinged slightly rose coloured on his ears and the crown of his head.

Ethari made tea and set three mugs down on the table while Rayla mixed her breakfast together with some oat milk. She sat down and tucked in, occasionally flicking some food at Cornix, who caught it in various forms, overexerting himself when Runaan entered the room to show off his prowess. Ayla blinked up at him slowly before she slunk towards the stove.

“There’s tea,” Ethari told him.

Runaan smiled and bent down to kiss his cheek, giving his shoulder a loving squeeze. Ethari smiled and put a hand over his husband’s for a moment before releasing him. Rayla stared at her muesli, trying not to scowl at Runaan. Ethari noticed this, and she flushed under his gaze, hunching over her meal and trying to look small and inoffensive; Cornix helped by becoming a click beetle and crawling into her sleeve.

“So, Rayla. What are y’lessons today?” Ethari asked pleasantly as Runaan sat down across the table with a bowl full of fruits and nuts, which he pushed towards Ethari.

“Art and Writin’.” Rayla shrugged casually, eyeing up Runaan suspiciously.

No moon days at school were comparatively light in terms of workload, and they got the afternoon off. The phase of the moon never stopped Runaan from setting difficult tasks for Rayla to complete, and he liked springing things on her when their connection to the moon was at its weakest. She could usually figure out what he was planning by looking at his clothes, but he was wearing the kind of sloppy, comfortable clothing he always wore around the house when he had nowhere to go and no one to see. Cornix thought wryly that it was a clever, intricate piece of misdirection, but who could tell? They’d just have to wait and see.

“And I seem to remember you have a study session with your group for Draconic after your lessons?” Runaan added mildly as he took a sip of tea.

“Yup.” She acknowledged dully. She’d rather be in bed right now.

The two older elves exchanged knowing looks while the ten-year-old sulked into her muesli. They too felt like they’d rather be in bed, but the world didn’t stop just because the moon was hiding, and they knew in a few years Rayla would have learnt to live with it. Until then, they had to deal with her pouting. As Rayla was finishing her breakfast, Ethari got up, but she was too busy playing with her spoon and drawing lines in the bottom of the bowl to pay much attention. She looked up when he came back with her lunch, wrapped up in a cloth bag, and set it down on the table by her elbow. She smiled when he wordlessly took a section of her hair and started to braid it; Rayla could, of course, do her own hair, but it felt nice when Ethari did it. He did a simple plait, like the one her father always wore his hair in, and tucked it behind her ear once he had tied the end.

“There, now. Ready?” he said, patting her shoulders encouragingly.

Rayla gave him a sideways smile, and he chuckled softly, thinking privately that she was the spitting image of her mother. Rayla remained coy while under Runaan’s scrutiny; he gazed at her dispassionately and stated, “Your marks are fading. We need to repaint them.”

She drew herself up and gave him a rather impressive, sardonic look. “Yes, sir.”

Runaan looked unimpressed at her snarky tone, but didn’t comment on it; Ethari was giving him a warning look, so he let this little display of insurrection go unchecked for now. Rayla was, by and large, an obedient child – the dark moon merely made her moody, and she had yet to learn the appropriate coping mechanisms.

There was a faint knock at the front door, and Runaan got up to answer it. Rayla slowly stood up and lifted Cornix (who was in the form of an adder) onto her shoulder, but before she could pick up her bowl Ethari took it from her. He touched her shoulder as he rose from his chair, saying, “I’ve got this. You get on,” he ruffled her hair, and obligingly rubbed his knuckles against her horn when she tilted her head against his hand. “Have a good day, now.”

Rayla wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, smiling when he reciprocated the gesture. Ethari chuckled gently, and Kamaria stepped delicately towards them; Cornix bounced from Rayla’s shoulder and landed on her back as a mouse, and the deer dæmon turned her head to lick him tenderly. With him gone from her shoulder, Ethari wrapped his other arm around Rayla, fully enveloping her in his embrace. By the time Runaan came back to the kitchen, he had let go of her, and Rayla was scooping up her satchel and packed lunch in readiness to leave, her dæmon trotting at her side in the form of a midnight black wolf with stars spun across his back.

“Rayla.” Runaan said as she was just leaving the doorway, and she hung back, her expression carefully neutral. He gave her a small half smile, and said, “Have a good day.”

“You too.” She ducked out of sight, tugging on her coat as she made her way to the front door. It was a dreary kind of day outside, and looked like rain.

Cornix sighed as they descended the stairs and walked across the open, grassy space outside their house. “He’s up t’summit.” He growled under his breath.

“You think he’ll take pity on us and _not_ make us run in the rain?” Rayla asked wistfully as she gazed up at the canopy above them.

Her dæmon fixed her with a steely gaze and she looked away, pressing her lips together and trying not to laugh. “When the sky falls, perhaps.” He said nonchalantly as he stretched his legs.

Rayla spotted one of her classmates, who waved and walked over to join them on their way to school. Aibeck was also in the group they had been assigned to for their Draconic project, so they greeted each other half-heartedly and chatted about the homework before lamenting how much they missed their beds right now. Cornix paced ahead of them, shoulder to shoulder with Aibeck’s dæmon, who was in the form of a lioness with striking markings on her flanks that vaguely resembled those on her elf’s face.

They got to the school before the bell, and went to sit with their classmates, who were just as morose as they were about being here right now. When the bell did finally ring, Rayla noticed that of the five of them in their group, only three were present this morning. Aibeck made a snarky comment about Galadriel and Faron playing truant as they were hanging up their coats, when Faron’s twin sister pushed past him, dæmon snarling in the form of a smoky grey lynx.

“She fell down the stairs yesterday and broke her leg in three places.” Ordanna snapped at him.

“Yikes,” Rayla winced in sympathy. “Hope she feels better soon.”

Cornix trotted forward and bumped noses with Ordanna’s dæmon, who shifted into a wildcat and closed his eyes briefly at the contact. “Thanks,” the other elf said simply.

“What about Galadriel?” Aibeck complained as they walked towards their classroom.

“I think she’s sick…some kind of disease of the inner ear?” the pair of them both turned to look at the boy who had spoken. “Sounds like the word labyrinth?”

“Labyrinthitis?” Rayla ventured.

“That’s the one.”

Rayla threw her head back to look up at the ceiling and snarled. “Argh! Great, just _great_.”

“Can we just say we were down too many elves and go home early?” Aibeck whined.

The morning dragged, and their teacher confirmed that they could not in fact go home early just because they were missing two group members. Rayla scowled mutinously down at her workbook, trying to ignore Aibeck as he turned round in his seat and tried to convince their other workmate from the next table over to bunk off sick with him. Art, in any kind of medium, did not come easily to Rayla, so she struggled with the creative writing task they had been working on this month. She could spin funny and fantastical stories out loud on the spot, with little to no prior warning (to Runaan’s everlasting despair) but pinning them down with words on paper was another matter entirely. She was also not looking forward to the ceramics project they were doing in art class.

Rayla was a very creative person, just not in the way her teachers wished she was. She could solve complex puzzles, worm her way out of a head lock, run circles around Runaan and his little mind games (when she had the patience), and she was spontaneously hilarious when it came to stand-up comedy. Just not the visual or ‘tactile’ creative stuff they were asked to do in school.

Break time dragged as much as the lesson had, and Rayla slipped away to be alone. She found a quiet tree branch high above the yard and settled down to eat her apple in relative peace; Cornix shifted into a big, fluffy wild cat, and snuggled down onto her lap with a contented purr. They both groaned when the bell rang, and he nipped her hand when she had to shove him over the side of the branch to get him to move. Cornix turned into a magpie and pecked the back of her head from his perch on her horn as she traipsed back into the building.

The art lesson crawled by just as slowly, and Rayla spent more time staring at the water clock than she did at the blob of clay in her hands. She really wanted to make a vase for Ethari, but she sucked at this sort of thing, and it being a no moon day, she had even less drive to make it work. The one consolation before they were released for lunch and their independent study time was Cornix saying that the blob _did_ look a bit more triangular shaped now – thinner at the bottom, wider at the top, with a proper neck and lip, even if it was fairly wonky.

The three elves in their project group got together outside the library; they ate in silence, as did a few other groups, and then they went inside. As they were settling into one of the study rooms, the rain started in earnest, and Rayla grimaced at the thought of going for a run in that, with no moon in the sky. She glumly sent the thought to Cornix that Runaan just hated them, and Cornix visibly rolled his eyes at her before shifting into a hedgehog and bumbling his way into her satchel.

Their group worked quietly, although as time wore on Rayla became more and more concerned with Garret’s health; he seemed to be developing a fever, and slowly became less responsive to questions. Aibeck grumbled and complained that they were already pulling more weight with the work than they should be because the others were ill or injured, but even he admitted that Garret was really sick when Rayla prompted him to feel for a temperature.

“Yikes,” Aibeck dropped everything he was doing to hold Garret’s face in his hands, and looked more closely at his eyes, which were glazed over with his fever. “You really don’t look that good.”

“Can y’help him?” Rayla asked as Cornix shifted into a mouse and touched Hyacinthlee’s paw gently. Aibeck was training under Runaan, but he wasn’t keeping up with the demands of training, and he kept asking questions about healing instead of poisoning targets. He was shaping up to be a terrible assassin, but a good and dependable healer.

“Hmm…” Aibeck frowned, tilting the boy’s head this way and that, checking his eyes and tongue before feeling for the pulse. “I think you should go get the Healer.” He said quietly.

Rayla slipped out of the library and ran through the rain to the healing house on the other side of the school. The on duty Healer was getting on in years, and with the driving rain moved incredibly slowly; Rayla was hopping with impatience by the time they finally got back to the library, by which point Garret had been sick and was lying on the floor in the recovery position, covered in several borrowed coats and cloaks and shivering.

When the boy had been seen to and sent home, independent study was over, and Aibeck and Rayla had to go explain to their teacher what had happened, and show their meagre set of notes. The teacher for this subject was strict and had a zero-tolerance policy, and Aibeck swore she must have been eating moon opals when no one was looking because the dark moon never seemed to affect her. She stared down at the sparse work they had done, demanded to know where the rest of the group was, and finally after making them sweat it out for twenty minutes, let them go with a written warning that their group _had_ to get a move on with the assignment.

“I’m goin’ home.” Aibeck grumbled as they stumped out of the building. “I’ll see ya next week.”

“Bye.” Rayla said dully, watching as he and his dæmon ran into the driving squall and out of sight. She gave Cornix a dull look as he perched on her shoulder, as reluctant to leave the building as she was. “Ready for whatever horror’s Runaan has in store for us?”

“Nope.” Cornix griped back, trying to squirm his way into her hood, mouse formed.

“Good.” Rayla snapped, and dived headfirst into the rain.

They pitched up at home, soaking wet and nearly forty minutes later than expected, and predictably enough Runaan demanded an explanation.

“And _where_ exactly have you been? You’re the better part of an hour late, young lady.” Ayla trotted forth and sat herself down delicately on her haunches, and didn’t flinch when Rayla looked her right in the eye and scowled. “Well?” Runaan added, folding his arms and everything.

Cornix sprang from her shoulder and landed on the floor between them, in the form of a hissing stoat with his back arched, the lurid patterns of green on his face standing out lividly against his midnight dark fur.

“Galadriel and Faron were ill. Then Garret got sick an’ Aibeck an’I hadta get the Healer, and we got no work done.” She glared at him mutinously while he appraised her.

Ethari came into the workshop, and hurried over to start fussing over the state of her clothes and insist on her getting changed.

“Honestly, Runaan.” He scolded his husband as he ushered Rayla towards the bathroom and warm towels. “She’ll catch her death standin’ round like that.”

“Yes,” Runaan said slowly, lifting a hand to his chin as he appraised her retreating back. “She does somewhat resemble a drowned rat, doesn’t she?”

Rayla could have made a go at slitting his throat, but she knew he was way too quick and powerful for her to take on, and she didn’t have a plan. So she settled for the ‘if looks could kill’ expression instead. As Ethari was towelling her hair dry, Cornix bounced onto the counter by the sink.

“Hey. Rayla,” he hissed, and she turned to him with a scowl. “Look, look,” her dæmon said, shifting into a large, chocolate brown rat with delicate patterns down his flanks and around his eyes in a lighter hue. He struck a dramatic pose, and slid neatly off the counter onto the floor with a _thump_. “Drowned rat,”

Despite herself, Rayla giggled into the back of her hand, and laughed more loudly as Kamaria stepped forward and licked his damp fur reassuringly. Cornix shifted into a young roe buck and rubbed his head against her chest, seeking comfort from the older dæmon. Ethari wrapped Rayla up in his arms through the towel he had been working through her hair, and she squeezed him back.

“Sounds like a long half day.” He said gently as he patted her shoulders dry. “Go get changed. Runaan wants you in the livin’ room.

“What’s he plannin?” she asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know.” Ethari said with a shrug. “You’d better ask him.”

Rayla trudged into her room and dumped her bag onto the floor beside her desk before she went to find some fresh training clothes, dreading whatever it was that Runaan was going to inflict on them.

Once she was presentable again, she went to the living room, feet dragging with reluctance every step of the way. She looked at Runaan with deep suspicion when she saw that he was _still_ wearing the same casual attire he had this morning. He stood up and acknowledged her before gesturing to the low table in the middle of the room. Rayla stepped forward, eyeing him up, waiting for the catch, or any indication of what he was planning.

“Are you ready?”

She gave him a hard look, and Cornix turned into a serpent with a soft and menacing hiss. Ayla’s eyes annoyingly twinkled with amusement; she stretched and yawned laboriously before she trotted over to the table and nosed at a wooden box there.

“Yes.” Rayla griped, fiddling with a loose thread on her tunic.

“Good. Open the box,”

She did as instructed, and groaned, wishing Runaan was kicking her outside into the rain for training instead of this torture. It was a gis board, a game a bit like chess and a bit like checkers, but infinitely more complex, which could go on for days at a time. Rayla didn’t have the kind of patience needed to play a full game of gis, least of all after a day like today, and least of all on a sodding _no moon day_.

“Your body is not the only thing that must be enduring.” Runaan explained. “So too must your mind.”

Cornix sent a quick round of thoughts to her, asking whether he should tear Ayla’s throat out, and then whether ripping off Rayla’s leg really would get her out of training.

“Do we really _have_ to?” Rayla moaned. When Runaan gave her a hard look, she added, “It’s no moon day!”

“All the more reason to practise,” he leant down and tapped a finger against the side of the box. “Set the board up.”

“ _Why_?” Rayla groaned, doing as she was told despite her misgivings.

“Why do we train with heavier wooden swords?” Runaan countered.

She scowled and refused to look at him or the board for a long moment. “B’cos it makes it easier t’swing the metal swords.” She said reluctantly, toying with one of the playing pieces instead of setting up the board.

Runaan plucked it from her hands and placed it with great deliberation onto the table. “Precisely.” He said simply. “I will go and make some tea. I expect the board to be set by the time I get back.”

Rayla felt like flipping the whole board, but it was Ethari’s and had been passed down the family for generations. That, and she didn’t want to get into trouble with Runaan. She sighed, and began to laboriously line the pieces up for a game. Cornix got in the way, and cawed at her when she slapped him aside with a snarl.

“Run away,” he told her, hunched and menacing on the couch arm rest in the form of a hooded crow. “Let’s join a circus, they’ll never find us.”

Rayla snorted. “Yeah, then Mum’d be after us.”

“She’d never leave the Spire.”

“If Runaan told her I joined a circus, she’d hunt me down and destroy me.”

Cornix puffed himself up importantly. “Your parents are the best of the Dragonguard. Their duty ends over their rottin’ corpses.”

Rayla laughed, and then looked down at the board glumly, rolling a counter between her fingers. “She’d find a way.”

Cornix shrugged and flapped up to sit on her horn. “We’ll survive this.” She sighed heavily, and reached up to rub his keel and neck. Cornix hopped down onto her shoulder and rubbed his beak against her throat.

Runaan took his time with the tea, and Rayla wasn’t entirely sure if it was deliberate to give her more time, or unintentional because he was distracted by something. She caught the tail end of the conversation he was having with Ethari about some adjustments to Ram’s weapons before Runaan focused his attention on her and their task, so she couldn’t tell.

It was every bit as frustrating and boring as she had dreaded, with the one consolation being that at least she wasn’t soaked through. The rain continued heavily outside, and Cornix hissed quietly into her ear as a snake, “Maybe he didn’t want to train in this weather either?”

She twisted her mouth thoughtfully to hide her smile, but Runaan was contemplating her last move too much to be paying any attention to her expression. The only way Rayla had ever succeeded in any capacity in this game was to just randomly throw her pieces around, and hope for the best. Ethari liked playing with her, because she made the game unpredictable and interesting; Runaan just despaired because she lacked patience and orderly discipline.

As they continued to play into the evening, Ethari brought in some soup, and they stopped playing to eat, before Runaan insisted that they keep going. Kamaria joined Ayla on the floor by the table, and the pair of them appeared to doze off while their elves remained alert and focused on the gis board. Rayla wanted to go to bed and be left alone, but she persevered – if for no other reason at this point but to rub it in Runaan’s face and say ‘I did it’.

Finally, well after dusk, Runaan called a halt to the game, and informed her that they would continue the exercise for the next four months, every dark moon. In the meantime, the board would stay where it was, and she could look at it and plan her next set of moves, but if she so much as touched the board there would be dire consequences.

By now Rayla was frazzled, exhausted, deeply frustrated and just plain fed up with everything. The kind of state of mind where if someone said the wrong thing she would just burst into tears – which was never a good thing around Runaan.

He got up and went to light a few more candles, and Ethari beckoned her over towards the kitchen. Wordlessly, he had her help him to make some hot drinks, and prepared some cocoa with marshmallows for her. Rayla was so grateful for his silent understanding that she hugged him for a long moment, and when she pulled back she had to wipe tears from her eyes. Ethari let her go and waited for her to find some composure, which didn’t take long, and then he loaded up the tray and carried it into the living room.

Runaan was reclining in his favourite armchair, sipping the last of his cold mint tea before accepting a fresh mug. Rayla flopped down onto the couch and sipped her cocoa, absentmindedly stroking her dæmon’s soft fur as he sat contentedly on her lap as a singing weasel.

Ayla lifted her head and fixed the young elf with her steely gaze. “Your marks are fading.” She said simply.

Rayla scowled at her, and had to bite her lip to keep from smiling when Kamaria nipped the night fox’s ear in warning. She looked up when Ethari put a hand on the crown of her head and ruffled her hair, and gave him a real smile when she saw the warmth in his expression.

“Shall we do somethin’ about that?”

“Better sooner than later.” Runaan put in, sipping his tea at his leisure.

“I was askin’ Rayla.” Ethari said mildly, and Kamaria gave another warning nip. When the other dæmon tried to lift her head, the doe pressed against her neck and pushed her down against the floor.

Rayla ducked out of the way to hide the bubble of laughter in her chest. Runaan may have been the big bad, scary archetype of a Moonshadow warrior, but Ethari wasn’t a push over. It gave Rayla some hope, knowing that someone as kind and gentle as Ethari could command Runaan and overrule his authority. When she had been very little, Rayla had thought Runaan’s word was absolute; then Ethari had started introducing her to the shades of grey in between, and she began to understand the nuances and biases with which he saw the world. Not that she was really aware of this, or able to put it into words; Ethari noticed how much she was growing up in front of their eyes. He saw the shifts in her perspective, and understood why she kept rebelling against Runaan even though she loved and respected him deeply, and would have done just about anything to make him proud.

Ethari got the little pot of special paint out, the one that was specifically Rayla’s, and made her sit on the arm rest while he carefully applied a layer of pigment to her skin. She obligingly closed each eye in turn, and he prompted her to drink her cocoa when he finished one eye and before he started the next. Painting someone’s marks for them was a sign of deep respect, love and trust; usually only close friends and immediate family were asked to do so. It felt a little selfish, and Ethari had never said so out loud to Rayla, but he thought of her as his own – and he enjoyed this peaceful time, tending to familial responsibilities.

The dye had to stay on the skin for a while after it was applied, and eventually Ethari wiped her face clean with a damp cloth. By then Rayla had finished her drink, and draped herself across the couch haphazardly as Ethari made a show of looking at the little bottle that had Runaan’s dye inside.

“I think,” he said slowly, in a bright tone and with an easy smile that just about hid the mischief dancing in his eyes. “ _Your_ marks could do with a touch up, my dear.”

Runaan raised a delicate eyebrow. “Do you think so.” He stated more than asked.

“What do you think, Rayla?” Ethari asked lightly, already unscrewing the lid and reaching for a clean brush.

Rayla sat up straighter, grinning, and said primly, “They _do_ look a bit faded, don’t they?”

Cornix swooped up from where he had been sitting on the floor as a wolf, and landed crow shaped on her horn; he looked over his shoulder at Runaan, and gave an innocent little caw. Ethari smiled at the pair of them with amusement, and made a little gesture to Rayla to tone it down just a bit. She leaned back against the arm rest with a barely contained smirk as Ethari started good naturedly bossing Runaan around and repainting the marks on his face.

As the evening wore on, the day’s activities all caught up with her, and Rayla dozed off. She capsized completely onto the cushions as Ethari was wiping Runaan’s face clear, dæmon snuggled into a warm ball against her stomach.

The couple exchanged fond looks over her head, Runaan showing the side of himself that she rarely if ever saw; he really did care, and he pushed her so hard because he believed she was capable of achieving great things, and sought to guide and prepare her as much as possible. Not that a ten-year-old could fathom such motives, Ethari reminded him gently every so often. He could see how Rayla viewed Runaan: a demanding task master with impossibly high expectations. Just as much as he could see how Runaan saw her: a waif under their care and protection, incredibly bright and adventurous, who inspired as much affection as she did frustration with her antics.

“We had best get her to bed.” Runaan said eventually, rubbing his dæmon’s ears. “She still has training tomorrow.”

Ethari gently touched her shoulder with a little shake, but she didn’t stir – mouth hanging open, breathing deeply and evenly, she was completely dead to the world. Runaan briefly considered waking her up by pinching her nose, but decided that she’d probably had enough of him today. So he slid his arms underneath her and lifted the girl up; Ayla paced forward and scooped up Cornix in her jaws with expert tenderness. Ethari leaned forward to kiss her brow goodnight, and Kamaria followed Ayla towards the door as far as their bond would allow.

Runaan deposited Rayla on her bed and tucked the sheets in around her while Ayla placed her paws on the foot of the bed and set Cornix down. She took the corner of the bed throw between her teeth and drew it over the weasel dæmon. Runaan lifted a lock of hair from Rayla’s face, and sat back a little to appraise her fully. Sleep was the one time she wasn’t constantly in motion, whether in her body or her mind; she looked completely peaceful.

With a soft smile, Runaan smoothed the hair back from her face. “Good night, little blade.”

He hadn’t called her that to her face for a while, because Rayla was approaching the terrible teens and getting increasingly ratty with him whenever she felt he was trying to baby her.

Ayla licked Cornix’s ears affectionately, and they both got up and left the room. Runaan paused in the doorway, his smile relaxed and unguarded as he beheld his sleeping charge. Quietly, he closed the door behind him, and the girl and her dæmon slept on. During the night, Cornix crawled up the bed and snuggled down under the covers with Rayla; he turned into a gangly wolf and she cuddled herself up in his warm fur while the rain continued to lash against the window.


	21. The Changes You Don’t Expect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Season 1: In the midst of his own grief, Harrow has to break the news to Callum that his mother has died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to add a trigger warning to this chapter for dealing with bereavement and grief. It was kind of cathartic to write, but not easy and honestly made me a lot more emotional than I was anticipating.

Harrow walked slowly towards the doors of the throne room, his legs dragging with every step.

A part of him didn’t want to be here; he wanted to be alone in his study with his grief.

But Callum deserved an explanation. And needed support and comfort. Harrow was not prepared to let anyone else deal with that – he had long since come to view the boy as his own son, and he owed Callum this much.

Epira stood straight and tall, as she always did when duty called. But her shoulders were hunched, and her tail hung low. Coupled with her man’s expression, their grief and stoic dedication to their responsibilities was obvious, and to the casual observer, all the more heart breaking. They had been carrying on as best they could the last few days, but the strain was starting to show more overtly. Harrow was a King, and he had to be strong and steady for his people.

He was also a father, and now a widower. There was no crown on his brow today; he wasn’t Callum’s king, he was his stepfather, and right now his sole duty was to his son’s wellbeing.

One of the guards standing watch outside the throne room reached for the heavy handles. “Are you ready?” he asked, calm and professional, but gentle given the circumstances.

Harrow took a deep breath, and Epira lowered her head almost to the floor with the weight of her grief hanging over them. “No. But you may open the doors.” Harrow told the guard. He tried to make himself as steady as possible, for Callum’s sake. The last thing he needed was for Harrow to completely lose it.

The hinges creaked as the door swung open, and Harrow saw Callum standing in the middle of the large, cavernous room. He had his back to the doors, but turned around at the sound; he looked up at Harrow, with those big, wide eyes of his that were always so full of curiosity. Today, he just looked lost, and Harrow had to work really hard to keep his expression even, and ensure that his voice was steady when he spoke.

Callum stood stock still, Cerys on his shoulder in the form of a collared dove, and they both watched Harrow closely as he approached at a sedate pace. Harrow knelt down in one fluid motion and bundled the boy up in his arms. Callum hugged him back, and Cerys shifted into a wolf cub as she leapt from his shoulder to land between Epira’s front paws. She hunkered down on the floor and enveloped the younger dæmon in her own embrace; Cerys whined pitifully and tried to bury herself in the mastiff’s neck.

Harrow exhaled heavily, trying to steel himself for what he needed to do. Ever since Sarai had been pronounced dead, he had been agonising over what to say to Callum. No matter what he drafted or planned for, it never felt like enough, or the right thing, or helpful for dealing with his grief…

And, as he had so often done in the past, he took Sarai’s advice; to just speak from the heart.

“Callum,” he said gently, unfurling his embrace so that he could hold Callum at arm’s length and look him in the eyes. “I want to talk to you about life.” His eyes were drawn to the floor, so Harrow gently put a hand under his chin and lifted his gaze back up to meet his. “And growing up. And how sometimes, there are changes, you don’t expect.”

It hurt to look at Callum, because he saw so much of Sarai in his face – and he would never hold her again, never hear her laughter or kiss her cheek or seek her council again. And she would never hug Callum again, or stroke his hair, or get to teach him battle stances.

Epira licked Cerys’ ears, and she shifted into a little puppy, crawling deeper into the Mastiff’s shadow. She settled down there, and quivered with some emotion none of them could identify. Callum just looked up at Harrow, lost and questioning, old enough to understand the implications and too young to know how to process his grief.

Harrow hesitated for a long moment before he reached up to brush a lock of hair off Callum’s face, realising too late that it was a gesture Sarai had performed countless times before. If the boy had made the connection, he didn’t give anything away. Gently, Harrow placed his hand on Callum’s shoulder, and took a steadying breath.

“When you grow up, sometimes you have to face things you’re not ready for.” He explained, his tone soft and even. “And you have to say goodbye to people you love, when you’re not prepared for it.”

Callum’s eyes flickered downward to the floor between them, and then with effort he pulled his gaze back up to meet Harrow’s. “Aunt Amaya said…Mom’s not coming home anymore.” He said in a small voice.

Harrow sighed heavily, feeling the tears well up and exert a terrible pressure behind his eyes. “That’s right.” He said, unable to hide the catch in his voice. “She…isn’t with us, anymore.”

Cerys skittered, and Epira lifted her paws to let the dæmon go. She shifted into a squirrel and scampered up Callum’s leg. Harrow shifted his hands so that he was holding the boy’s arms instead of his shoulders, so that Cerys had more room to manoeuvre. She ran around his neck a couple of times in a fluid circle, before she turned into a mole and buried herself into the neck of his shirt. The fabric shivered as she shook beneath it, and Callum reached up to cradle her, still looking Harrow full in the face.

“Why?”

It was a question Harrow had asked over and over again. To himself, to Viren and Amaya, to the Gods both known and unknown, and he had no adequate answer. Why her, why Sarai and not him, why did she have to pay for their safety with her own life?

“She did a very brave thing.” He told her son, reaching up to stroke his hair. “And because of it, everyone in Katolis and Duren will have enough food. But, on our way back, the Dragon King attacked. If she hadn’t gone to help, we would not have been able to use the magic spell to help everyone. Callum,” he held his face in his hand and leaned forward a little as Epira pressed herself against his leg, fighting back her own tears. “Your mother is the bravest person I have ever known. And you have every reason to be proud of her. She gave her life so that the kingdom would be safe. But…it’s okay to feel sad. It’s hard, to say goodbye to someone we love. It hurts. And it’s normal to feel bad when we miss someone.”

Callum looked down at his boots, and a tiny mouse nose poked out from under his collar, until his hands reached up and obscured Cerys from their view.

“I miss her.” He admitted, barely more than a whisper.

“I know.” Harrow said heavily, slowly drawing Callum closer, giving him time and space to pull away if he wanted to. His heart gave a painful quiver when the boy leaned into his embrace and clung to him like he was the only solid thing in the room. “So do I.”

Harrow had to take a long moment to gather himself, and to think about how to phrase what he needed to say. There had been a whisper at Court about what would happen to Callum; he wasn’t of royal blood, and Harrow wasn’t legally his parent, merely his stepfather and now his sole guardian. The stabbing insinuation of the rumour didn’t pierce the shell of grief that was wrapped around Harrow’s heart – he was still too numb to be bothering with it, but he knew sooner or later he would have to address it.

“Callum,” he murmured, drawing back enough to look the boy full in the face. “I promise I’ll be here for you, for as long as you need me. I know this is…a very difficult time for you. And I want you to know, you can always come and talk to me, about anything. At any time. Do you understand?”

Callum nodded, and his gaze slid downwards, shoulders slowly hunching as he collapsed inwards on himself. It broke Harrow’s heart all over again to watch.

“Is there anything I can do for you now?” He asked very gently, giving his son’s shoulder a squeeze.

Callum’s bottom lip wobbled for a moment, and he reached up to rub his eyes hastily on his sleeve, trying to hide his expression. “I wanna see Ez.” He said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Callum looked up, confusion in his expression before he nodded silently, and reached for Harrow’s hand. He gave the boy another hug, and slowly stood up before tucking Callum into his side, holding fast to his hand. Together, they left the throne room; Epira paced by Callum’s side, casting her gaze around them like a sentinel. Cerys stayed tucked into Callum’s neck, only her nose and tail visible.

At the doors, Harrow turned to the guards and spoke. “Please inform the High Council that I will be with my family in my rooms, not to be disturbed.”

The Captain of the Guard bowed his head. “Sire.” He murmured in acknowledgement.

Harrow focused all of his attention on Callum as they walked away, so he didn’t see it himself, but through his dæmon he saw the way the soldiers exchanged looks as they walked away. One woman waited for the King’s back to be turned before she reached up to wipe away a stray tear that had made it through her defences. Another watched Callum sadly as the boy walked down the corridor with his stepfather, and reached for a necklace that was tucked under his armour. Epira turned her back on the scene and hurried along in their wake, drawing level with Callum and keeping as close to him as possible without touching.

The boy said nothing, just held on tight and stayed close. And when they reached the King’s chambers, he wrapped his baby brother up in his arms like he meant to never let go. Harrow drew them both into his arms, and they settled down together to share in their grief and the comfort from each other’s presence.

XOXO

Over the following weeks, Callum did everything you could have expected of a Prince; he was calm and steady during the funeral and many memorial ceremonies that were conducted. He was subjected to many crowds, and attended Court whenever it was absolutely necessary. But Harrow knew that the boy was struggling; Cerys was almost always a moth at these functions, a form that betrayed nothing of one’s internal feelings.

Viren spent a lot of time with Harrow, being as attentive and supportive as possible, and taking on as many extra duties as Harrow needed so that he could spend time with his grieving son. Soren and Claudia went everywhere with Callum when Harrow could not. Cia prowled around in big and scary shapes, like a lion or a banther, to keep people at bay when Callum was especially brittle. Claudia swept him away to quiet corners and tucked him into her side so he could cry in private without an audience, Salem and Cerys at their feet in cat form for companionship.

Being hardened by battle and prior grief, Amaya dealt with her sister’s death as most warriors did: throwing herself into her work to stay busy and occupied. But it couldn’t go on indefinitely, and she gave as much of her time and attention to her nephews as she could.

A month after their return to Katolis, Harrow left a Council meeting later than he would have liked, and hurried back to his rooms as quickly as possible. He opened the door and slid inside, and as he looked at the fireplace, he remembered with vivid clarity the day he had introduced Sarai formally to his father, in this very room.

That kept happening; random memories sprang forth with painful clarity, and he could do little to stem the tide of emotions they brought until the flood had run its course.

Harrow walked slowly over to the couch, where Amaya was curled up with the boys. Palip lifted his grizzled grey muzzle off the ground and fixed Epira with a look. The mastiff dæmon bumped noses with him, neither of them wagging their tails like they usually would at such a gesture.

“Okay, Callum?” Harrow asked gently, stroking the boy’s hair.

Callum looked up at him, stony faced, eyes bright with unshed tears, before he looked down and away. Cerys was a small, brown moth, sitting on his neck. Amaya looked from Callum to Harrow and back, concern etched deeply into every line of her face.

“Would either of you like a drink?”

Callum looked up at Amaya, who gave him a long look before gesturing to reiterate the question. He nodded vaguely, and tucked himself into his aunt’s embrace. She gave Harrow a thumbs up, and signed which wine she would like, and he wordlessly complied with her request. He was pouring some juice for Callum, when the boy shifted and sat up in Amaya’s arms. Epira watched cautiously as Harrow continued with his task, only turning around when Callum’s small voice piped up in the deafening silence.

“She’s not coming back…is she?” he asked Amaya.

The warrior’s stony façade cracked wide open, and Callum saw the depth and breadth of her grief.

“She’s never coming back.” Callum said simply, with a finality that broke Harrow’s already shattered heart.

Amaya looked just as lost as Callum as she cast around for something to reply with. Callum lifted his hands to cover his face and collapsed inwards with a sob, and Harrow was already halfway across the room, reaching for him. Amaya lifted her hands, but didn’t reach for him or sign anything, as though she didn’t know what to do, and just let Harrow sweep him into his arms. Callum cried into his shoulder, weeping freely in a way Harrow hadn’t seen him cry since he had returned to them alone. It hurt to see his son so upset, but he knew that crying was a very normal reaction to losing a parent; the boy had been so well put together, all things considered, when he was under public scrutiny, that Harrow had begun to worry that he wasn’t processing his grief in a healthy way. Viren had commented on how strong Callum was being, but it had deeply concerned Harrow, especially since Callum was an emotional person, and Sarai had always encouraged him to express his feelings.

“I miss her!” Callum sobbed out loud, and Harrow stroked his hair, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I know. So do I,” he told him gently.

Harrow looked up when Amaya touched his arm. She was holding Ezran, who was half awake and rubbing at his eyes. Harrow held an arm out, and she deposited the toddler into his embrace. He held his two boys close, letting them know that they were loved and safe there with him.

With a deep sigh, Harrow leaned down to kiss the crown of Ezran’s head. “I love you both.” He turned and kissed Callum’s temple. “So much.” He leaned his cheek against Callum’s hair and closed his eyes. Callum swallowed thickly and reached out to hug his little brother close within the circle of Harrow’s arms. Amaya shifted to sit up on her knees, and wrapped her arms around the three of them. She traced letters on Callum’s back – Harrow didn’t know what she said, and he didn’t want to pry into their silent conversation; all he knew was that whatever Amaya communicated to him, Callum swallowed down another sob and nodded his head.

Cerys fluttered from her human down to Epira and Palip on the rug below. Kalila was curled up between Palip’s paws as a puppy, and Cerys shifted into a little mouse; she snuggled up alongside Kalila, and the wolf lowered his head to the floor beside them. Epira settled beside Palip, resting her great head on his shoulder; he flicked an ear at her, and a single tear ran down his muzzle.

They stayed there for a long time, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Eventually, with a heavy sigh and a pulsing headache brewing in his skull, Harrow roused himself to take the boys to bed. Callum had fallen fast asleep, the poor thing absolutely shattered, and Harrow did his best not to wake him up as he slowly stood. Amaya tacitly took Ezran, and her dæmon plucked Cerys from her little bundle with Kalila. Epira bent down and gently picked up Ezran’s dæmon by the scruff of her neck, and together they plodded towards the boys’ rooms.

Harrow felt completely drained by this point, only thinking about the boy in his arms and putting one foot in front of the other. He turned to look at Amaya as they rounded a corner, and paused at the foot of the stairs. She was looking down on the toddler in her arms, stroking his hair, and leaned down to kiss his temple. Harrow gripped Callum tighter, fighting to keep control of his tears; he had thought he had spent his grief, but there was apparently another untapped wellspring. He couldn’t help but notice how alike Amaya was to her sister, and for a brief moment, he had seen Sarai cradling their little boy.

Looking up at the gentle touch to his arm, Harrow met Amaya’s gaze before closing his eyes and burying his face in Callum’s hair. He needed a very long moment to pull himself together, but he managed it, and they walked slowly together up the stairs and down the corridor to the boys’ rooms.

Harrow tucked Callum into his bed, and Amaya did the same for Ezran. It had helped the pair of them over the past few weeks to sleep in the same room, and as long as Callum was happy to share his space, Harrow was content to leave the arrangement as it was. He kissed both boys goodnight, and tucked the covers around Callum more securely. Cerys was wrapped around his neck in the form of a stoat, his fingers wound into her soft fur.

Outside in the hallway as Amaya was closing the doors, Viren approached looking very concerned. Harrow took a deep breath and put on his politician’s face. There had been a meeting he should have attended that afternoon, but Viren had insisted on turning up to every one of his appointments, so that if Harrow didn’t feel able to participate, Viren could do so in his stead; he was most likely going to get a run down of what had happened.

“Are you-” Viren hesitated. “All right?” he finished lamely, because he knew what the answer was, and didn’t know how else to express his concern.

Harrow opened his mouth to speak, and dissolved into tears yet again, passing a hand over his eyes to try and hide his grief. It wasn’t good to show his pain and vulnerability so openly where the rest of the Castle could see – but he couldn’t hold it in.

When Amaya reached for him, he leaned gratefully into her embrace, and when Viren hurried forward as well, he clumsily wrapped an arm around his friend, glad for the comfort he brought. Epira lay down where she stood, and Palip plonked himself down along her spine with an unconscious whine, nuzzling her ears affectionately. Morgause slid delicately from Viren’s shoulders and draped herself around Epira’s instead, her tongue tickling her fur as she lazily flicked it.

When Amaya finally let go and drew back, Viren put his arm more securely around Harrow’s shoulders, and wordlessly handed him a handkerchief. Harrow did his best to put himself back together, but he knew he was an absolute mess – and he didn’t have the energy to care anymore if someone saw their King in such a state. Amaya signed the word for water and mimed drinking before tapping his scalp, where the headache was brewing, for emphasis.

“Yes.” He acknowledged listlessly.

Amaya looked from him to Viren, meaningfully, and signed with great slowness and exaggeration so that even he could not misunderstand.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get him to bed in one piece.” Viren promised, sounding rather solemn.

Amaya hesitated before she left, and pressed Harrow’s hand one last time before she and Palip slid into the shadows and disappeared, backs ramrod straight like they also wanted to be alone right now.

“What happened at the meeting?” Harrow asked, wiping his face one last time before tucking the handkerchief into his pocket.

Viren wilted with a small sigh of exasperation. “Nothing much. It doesn’t matter. Harrow, you _need_ to rest.” A ghost of a smile graced his lips. “You look awful.”

“I feel awful.” Harrow stated simply.

Viren faltered, and flailed for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what to say, Harrow. I want to help, I just don’t know how.”

“Just…” he sighed, and passed a hand over his eyes again. “Give me a run down first thing in the morning. I’ll be at the morning briefing.”

“You don’t have to-” Viren began, but stopped when Harrow held a hand up to silence him.

“I want to be alone. Thank you, my friend. But right now…” he reached down to scratch Epira’s ears as she rubbed against his leg. “I just need some space.”

“Of course,” Viren said slowly as he lifted Morgause onto his shoulder. “You…you know where I am, if you need anything.”

Harrow bowed his head in acknowledgment before he turned on his heel and slowly walked towards the stairs. He was grateful to be alive, that his boy’s weren’t orphaned; grateful for his friends who were helping him to keep his head above the tide line; grateful that his people would not starve, and neither would Duren. In the midst of this terrible situation, there was much to be thankful for.

But right now, he couldn’t focus on all of that. There was a hole in his heart that felt like it would never be filled again. He just wanted to be alone, to be the mess he felt inside without an audience; to not be a King or a warrior, or even a father – just a man grieving for the loss of someone he loved deeply.


	22. The Strongest Link

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Episode 5: Almost as soon as Viren takes the throne of Katolis, he gives an impassioned, vitriolic speech to provoke open warfare with Xadia. Remembering the elf who spared his life that fateful night, Marcos decides to take a stand for what he believes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while now, but penning Marcos' dæmon just right delayed it getting written xD Season 2 of His Dark Materials is now in the process of airing; not only am I gushing over how epic it is, it’s also giving me lots of plot fodder for this AU, so continue to watch this space. I’m slowly getting through the to do list and building up the bank of completed chapters in the hopes of keeping the update schedule fairly regular.

The Katolian military had been summoned to congregate in the main courtyard of the castle. Marcos felt incredibly uneasy as he filed inside and lined up alongside his comrades. His dæmon Ares trotted alongside him obediently, shoulders stiff and ears cocked, straining to catch anything and everything that could indicate what was going on.

“What do you reckon’s gonna happen?” someone to his left asked their neighbour. The man being questioned shrugged, looking completely blank faced while his cat dæmon sat stock still by his heel, and his interlocuter turned aside with a frown, hawk dæmon flapping his wings with agitation.

One of the Captains walked past and gave them all a deep unimpressed look; Marcos recognised her deep-seated misgivings about the whole affair in the way her banther dæmon thrashed his tail and snarled uncharacteristically at everyone. They were normally so laid back they were horizontal; it was just a bit comforting to know Marcos wasn’t the only one feeling on edge. He looked down at Ares, and the Malinois gazed back solemnly with her dark eyes, ears still pricked as conversation continued to flow.

“-I mean, absolutely no disrespect to the kid,” someone was saying, and the Captain’s ramrod straight back tightened. “But Prince Ezran isn’t fit to rule us at this time.”

“Dude,” an old hand called Mattrim said forcefully, the osprey on his shoulder giving the soldier a steely look right in the eye. “The boy just lost his father. Have some respect,”

“I’m _just_ saying-” the guy went on loudly, his terrier dæmon sinking ever lower towards the ground under the osprey’s glare.

“Enough!” the Captain barked over the noise, and everyone in the vicinity turned to stare at them. “Not another word!” her dæmon gave a dull roar for emphasis, and everyone shifted uneasily.

Marcos looked at the ground in front of him, his stomach slowly falling through the soles of his feet. The last few days had been utter chaos; no one seemed to know if any of them were coming or going, and Marcos was deeply afraid. Viren had killed the night he was arrested, and then somehow been crowned King after King Ezran had been manoeuvred into a forced abdication in order to prevent infighting within the Pentarchy. While the young king’s stance on peace was not universally popular, Prince Kasef had certainly not endeared himself by threatening their kingdom with war.

Ares flicked her gaze up at Marcos’, and he looked down at her, both calculating for a long moment before looking away. She was of the opinion that Prince Kasef was throwing his weight around, and the only reason that Duren had not been dragged into the fray as well was because Queen Aanya was far more politically adept than King Ezran. Marcos was certain that King Harrow would not have tolerated Kasef’s behaviour, either. However, the matter of Viren’s ascension despite his criminal record was at the heart of Marcos’ concern. He didn’t want to believe Soren had been up to something, but he had always been loyal to a fault where his father was concerned, and when he had returned from wherever he and his sister had been, under the circumstances…

Marcos took a deep breath to steady himself, and laid a hand on his dæmon’s head when she whined long and low in her throat.

The doors to the main atrium of the castle, high up on the balcony opened, and Ares pricked her ears as a hush fell over the waiting audience. Marcos remained outwardly stoic, while inside his heart raced and his stomach churned unpleasantly. He had sworn an oath to the Crown, and to his Kingdom. It was his duty to serve the incumbent monarch.

The King walked forward to the palisade, his expression hard to gauge from this distance, but soon enough the tone of his voice gave an indication to his motives.

“I am humbled, to stand before you.” The King began. He spread his arms wide in an open gesture, and continued, raising his fist to emphasise his passion. “You are the greatest fighting force in the history of humankind!”

The soldiers cheered, for the most part. A few here and there hesitated just a moment too long for the gesture to be completely authentic when they joined in. Ares stayed sitting on her haunches while the other dæmons all barked, roared, cawed and flapped their assent.

“Xadia _hates_ us.” Viren said emphatically. “They hate humanity. And they would destroy us if we let them.” After a dramatic pause, he spread his arms wide, like he was inviting them all in. “But we will fight back!”

The courtyard erupted with cheers once more, and Ares snarled, drawing her lips right back and narrowing her eyes at the ‘King’, while Marcos’ heart quivered and leapt in his chest.

He thought of that fateful night, when everything had changed. When he had found the assassins who had come for King Harrow’s life.

When he had nearly died.

The memory was so vivid, engrained so deeply he doubted he would ever forget; the elf standing over him, cornering him in the mud like a rat – and she had let him go. The lightning had flashed, casting lurid shadows over them both, and her dæmon had faltered just as she leaned back, _just_ enough that Marcos could see her face clearly under her hood.

As scared and startled as he had been. And when he took the opening, the opportunity the fates had given him, she didn’t chase him down, though he had no doubt that she could have done so with terrifying ease.

She had let him live, whether through compassion or pity, but that didn’t matter.

Marcos had spoken with Ares at great length ever since that night. Neither of them could be certain, but the seeds of doubt had been sown, and as Viren continued with his plotting and scheming, they had sprouted and grown. Where the elf who had been taken captive had gone was a mystery, as was the whereabouts of the elf who had spared Marcos; some of the soldiers in his battalion swore they had seen an elf matching her description chasing down Prince Callum on the battlements, and she had not been counted among the dead that night. And then, upon his return, King Ezran had been adamant that his brother was safe and travelling with an elf through Xadia, taking the Dragon Prince home.

If all of this was true, then what Viren said was a lie. An elf wouldn’t deign to travel and work with a human, if they hated humanity so deeply. Wouldn’t have enough empathy to spare a human’s life.

It was a fanciful, wide eyed hope that King Ezran had spun – admittedly unrealistic in the harsh light of day, but infinitely kinder and more nurturing than the path Viren was leading them towards.

“But, before we embark on our journey across the world, a journey that will change history,” Viren added unnecessarily, shaking Marcos from his thoughts. “There is one, _unpleasant_ matter.”

Ares cocked her ears and looked over her shoulder at Marcos. Through their link, she instructed him silently to remain vigilant. Don’t think; observe, _notice_. A rumble of confusion rolled across the crowd, people turning to their neighbours or looking to their commanders, who were just as perplexed as their subordinates.

“You see,” the man on the balcony elaborated. “Ezran, in his last act as King, insisted that all those who no longer wish to fight be allowed to, _lay down_ their arms.”

Marcos stiffened, and Ares bristled with another snarl, which elicited a startled look from the soldier to their left. The derisive tone Viren used was disdainful, disparaging, like King Ezran’s compassion was not worthy of their respect. The crowd, already riled up by his previous words, exclaimed out loud in a chorus of shock and confusion.

Ares gasped, communicating to Marcos even as the thoughts arose in her mind. Viren was leading them all by the nose, hooking into their emotions and twisting their loyalties. Her suspicions were confirmed when, amidst the chaos rippling through the crowd, Viren said forcefully, “Well, go on, leave us, cowards. We don’t want you anyway.”

Divide and conquer. Belittle and suppress. Inspire with fear and provoke with hatred.

Heedless of the lives it would cost, Marcos added to the rapid round of thoughts running through Ares’ mind.

She looked up as Marcos’ own gaze drifted downward. There was a deathly silence smothering the courtyard now, no one daring to make a noise. Man and dæmon turned to look each other in the eye, tense and angry and – as their gazes locked together – resolute. They couldn’t stand for this anymore, couldn’t stay still and quiet and listen to another word.

Marcos stepped forward, ignoring the way his comrades started in surprise, and came to the front of the crowd. He stared up at the so called King, who from this distance had a distinctly disdainful expression on his face; he stared the man in the eye as he unsheathed his sword and deliberately dug the point of the blade into the ground. He pulled off his helmet, no longer bothering to hide his contempt for Viren as he placed it on the hilt of his sword. A tide of booing and jeering rose behind him, but he stood straight and tall; Ares thrashed her tail by his side, lips drawn back in a silent snarl. He wasn’t prepared to sacrifice his principles, was not prepared to follow this man _anywhere_ , and he definitely was not going to war with the elves purely to prevent another human from turning his home into a battlefield.

The angry shouts and heckling stung, but Marcos refused to back down.

And then, one by one, others came forward. The first came up on his right and stabbed his sword into the ground, jaguar dæmon growling deeply in her throat; and then a woman appeared to Marcos’ left, and she maintained eye contact with Viren up on his elevated perch as she tossed her sword to the ground in an insulting show of defiance. Seeing these gestures, those who came after them repeated it, tossing their weapons to show their disdain and rebellion to Viren’s assertions, their dæmons displaying their agitation and defiance with their voices and posture. Marcos watched as the Captain with the banther dæmon strolled forward at her leisure and twirled her halberd like a baton before tossing it aside, her dæmon roaring over the cacophony from the crowd behind him. And still more came, their ranks slowly but surely swelling; Marcos’ heart was beating a painful tattoo against his throat. Hope pulsed in his veins, and he glanced at Ares. They weren’t alone, in their doubts or their convictions.

The last person who joined their group held her sword up as though she were going to stab it into the ground, but dropped it unceremoniously, fixing the ‘King’ in place with her stare as her wolf dæmon growled loudly, a deafening ululation rising in his throat. Nearby, another soldier who had hesitated for a long moment did the same, their raven dæmon croaking loudly into the silence as the ring of steel on cobble stones died.

Then the crowd turned on them, redoubling their cries and jeers, taunting and belittling their choice not to fight. Marcos kept watching Viren as his dæmon scanned the sea of faces around them. The other dæmons all met her gaze, and even from this distance the meaning was plain: _we’re with you, every step of the way_.

And predictably enough, Viren pulled himself up and took what little control of the situation he still had, apparently having planned for this dissention in the ranks. The slimy, conniving _bastard_ , Ares thought to herself with a silent snarl.

“No, no! Let them _be_ ,” he waved his hands like he was trying to placate the angry mob of soldiers. “Let them return safely to their families.”

Ares thought he looked more like a conductor in front of an orchestra. This had all been carefully planned, strategically crafted to make them turn on each other whilst staying under Viren’s thumb. Marcos’ mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do next.

With an ugly expression, Viren took something from his pocket and held it up high, like a beacon. “But even their families will know that they are deserters. They will wear a badge on their clothing. A badge of shame and cowardice, a broken link!”

Ares flicked her ears and threw her head back. “I’m done with this.” She proclaimed loudly, and together she and Marcos turned on their heels and walked towards the gates.

The other soldiers who had laid down their arms followed in their wake amid the torrent of abuse thrown at them from all sides. Marcos held his head high, and forced himself to walk calmly, not giving into the fear, anger and intimidation around them. Ares looked to the others who followed, and noted that they drew strength from his example, so they both stayed straight and tall.

There was little surprise that someone was standing by the gates, and as Marcos passed him, a small badge was pressed into his hand. For a moment, he considered tossing it in the poor boy’s face, or marching back to the front and throwing it at Viren, but Marcos stayed his hand. Starting a fight with the crowd so deeply riled up and angry with them seemed like a dangerous move. So he held it in his hand, and kept walking calmly, ignoring the abuse and taking comfort from the chain of support from the people behind him.

It was all the more gratifying when Marcos heard the increasingly distant voice of the pretender King proclaim: “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. It is better to be rid of our weak links today!”

The cheering of the crowd receded as they walked across the bridge together, the silence heavy and ringing with a mixture of shock, awe and disbelief. Wordlessly, they all congregated on the roadside, and watched as the doors to the castle slammed shut behind them.

After a long pause, a young individual with a barn owl dæmon said, “ _Now_ what?”

Mattrim held his hand out and looked at the little sliver of metal contemptuously. “I say we throw this garbage away and be done with Viren and his mind games.”

“No,” Marcos said suddenly, surprising himself as much as anyone else. He held it up, the moonlight glinting off its surface, and he again saw the Moonshadow elf in his mind’s eye. “He is right about one thing.” He looked each and every one of them in the eye before he spoke again. Some were nervous, some resigned; some were restless and ready for action. “A chain is only as strong as the weakest link. I’m proud to be part of this chain. Every one of you chose this instead of war with Xadia, whatever your reasons. I won’t speak for any of you, but I could not stand there and listen to his lies and manipulations anymore. King Ezran sacrificed his rightful place on the throne to stop another _human_ from turning Katolis into a battlefield! And if elves hated us so much, then why did I not die the night the assassins infiltrated the kingdom? I don’t know. Maybe she took pity on me, maybe she _did_ care enough for the life of a human, but I stand here today because of the choice she made to stay her hand.”

Marcos met the eyes of his compatriots levelly, and they looked back solemnly. “I refuse to lie down and do _nothing_ while Viren leads our kingdom into chaos. King Ezran chose peace for the good of our people. If Thunder’s death provoked Moonshadow assassins to retaliate against King Harrow, who knows what they’ll do when the Pentarchy sends four armies over the border!”

“I agree,” Mattrim said tacitly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re right, Marcos. This,” he held the badge aloft. “Is a symbol of our resolve. We may be a chain, but we are not broken or weak.”

The Captain with the banther dæmon whose name Marcos didn’t remember right away stepped forward. “Well then,” she turned to him, and he started in surprise. “What’s our next move?

“Err,” Marcos blinked stupidly, his mind not keeping up with the constantly turning events.

“What _can_ we do?” someone chimed in. She looked barely old enough to have enlisted; her little mouse dæmon sat on her shoulder, holding their badge between his paws.

“Umm…” another person who Marcos was sure was called Joshua raised his hand uncertainly. “Aren’t we effectively renegades now? Don’t get me wrong,” he added uneasily, running a finger under his collar nervously. “I’m glad I stood up and everything, but…” he spread his hands uselessly, and his moth dæmon flapped from shoulder to shoulder. “We’re no longer considered part of His Majesty’s army. We have no access to supplies or equipment. You heard the King, he’s turned everyone against us. They’ll _never_ help us.”

“Actually,” someone else said slowly, patting his stag dæmon’s shoulder thoughtfully. Marcos blinked; people with a dæmon the same sex as their own were rare, but not unheard of in Katolis. “My aunt owns a large farmstead about five hours hard ride to the west. If we can get there quickly, I know she’ll give us whatever supplies she can spare.”

“Is there enough time?” The Captain asked, again turning to Marcos, like his opinion mattered in the chain of command.

“If we discreetly slip into the communal stables…” Mattrim said slowly, stroking his beard. “We stand a chance.” He looked to his dæmon, and she obligingly took off to scout the area. “We need to move quickly before word spreads too far about our status.”

“Well? Speak, man. We’re all waiting.” The Captain barked at Marcos.

“With respect,” he said hastily, Ares bristling and resisting the overwhelming urge to defer to the grizzly banther who was staring her down. “I don’t think it’s my place-”

“Marcos,” she said more softly, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You weren’t the only one who disagreed with Viren. But you were the first to show it openly. I’ve been so worried about the state of affairs, and I was paralysed with fear when he gave us the option to leave. But seeing you walk forward proudly and standing up to that vile, murderous scumbag for what you believe in…” she gave him a squeeze, and her dæmon gave Ares’ ears a lick. “It gave me strength. And hope. I’ll follow you, _all_ of you, into the jaws of death, if that’s what it takes to protect our people.” She turned and looked at them all one by one, her expression calm, steady and compassionate.

“Th-thank you, ma’am.” Marcos stammered out, wide eyed and shocked.

“So,” Mattrim coughed loudly to focus their attention.

The bird dæmons had returned from their scout, and his osprey said, “No one has left the castle yet, but the duty guard has been restructured and riders are being prepared at the royal stables.”

“We need to move quickly then,” the Captain said, reflexively going to lean her hand on the weapon she no longer carried. Flexing her fingers, she turned to Marcos and said, “What do we do?”

Marcos considered for a moment, looking at Ares. “To Duren. They did not kowtow to Prince Kasef’s demands. If we want to make a difference in the coming war, we’ll need their help.”

“Actually…” someone slowly raised a hand, looking very sheepish as everyone turned to look at them. “Corvus said before he left that that’s where he and High Cleric Opeli were going. S-sorry, I…” they swallowed thickly. “Everything’s moving so fast…”

“To Duren, then. Corporal Robin, where exactly is your family’s farmstead? And can you be certain they will assist us?”

“On my grandmother’s grave, my aunt will hear us out. But I can’t say the same for my cousins,”

“We need scouts to check the route to the stables in the citadel,” Marcos said swiftly, thinking fast through all their options. “No one will know yet that we’re to be treated as deserters. Keep the badges hidden for now. We need scouts, and a team to organise the horses, and someone to plan the route to the farm.”

“I’ll do it,” Robin nodded. “My dæmon can carry me in a pinch.”

“Mine too.” The Captain said, patting her banther dæmon’s leg. “Get into groups. Everyone who can ride without a horse come over here first,”

They broke into a chaotic jumble, going back and forth and amending plans as they went, but from the disarray of their tumultuous beginnings, their common goals solidified.

For a variety of reasons, they had each individually chosen this path. Everyone brought something different to their makeshift planning table, and the more senior officers delegated and coordinated their efforts. It was going to be tough, probably the hardest thing Marcos would ever have to do, and they had only just begun. But as they marshalled themselves into order and put their plan to get mounts into action, he took a quiet moment to look his dæmon in the eye, and felt the same assuredness deep down that she did. Like the night the elf had spared his life.

This was the right, and just course of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That scene in the final battle where Duren and the Katolian defectors appeared on the horizon with the banner Viren had given them was the most beautiful FU possible to him. I felt it sent a powerful message about taking the thing that other people try to use against and shame you with, and turning it into a symbol of immeasurable pride. Of all the beautiful, wonderful plot threads throughout the series so far, this one was my absolute favourite <3


	23. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 Episodes 8 & 9: As the Dark magic induced fever takes hold of him, Callum slips into the dark recesses of his mind, where he finds his connection to the Sky.

His whole body _ached_.

It didn’t hurt, but something prickled and crawled under his skin, and no matter what he did, he just couldn’t get comfortable.

Callum felt heavy and tired, like his limbs were filled with lead the consistency of jelly. He blinked, dazed to find himself back at their campsite; Rayla spun him around before his mind could catchup with the movement, and then he was on his back on the floor of the cave. And it didn’t help, because he felt so tired that he just wanted to collapse – but he was already lying down. What else could he do?

“I’m so uncomfortable,” he mumbled out loud, to no one in particular.

He could hear Rayla’s voice, but from a fair distance away. She’d probably walked off, angry with him, like she had been over the little glowy cube thing and the whole fiasco at the Banther Lodge.

Callum tried to open his eyes, but they were anchored shut, and he turned his head, unable to lift his hands, and tried desperately to find Cerys. Wet feathers brushed against his cheek as she settled in against his neck with a shiver. It was an unpleasant sensation, but her nearness brought a small comfort in the sea he was lost in.

He didn’t like this feeling, and he cast about to try and find _something_ to alleviate it.

“I’m so uncomfortable!”

The words echoed in his head, but his lips didn’t move.

He finally opened his eyes, and stared up into a thick veil of darkness. He was lying on a bed of…keys? Like the ones from the box in the game room. He stuck a hand into the pile and lifted them up; they made faint clanking sounds as the metal scraped together, but something felt off kilter and just plain _weird_.

“Cerys?” he asked into the darkness, afraid that he was having one of those nightmares where he was alone without his dæmon, without his soul.

“I’m here,” she breathed, still perched on his shoulder, and he reached up for her. They nuzzled in close, hearts hammering away together. “I think…Callum, I think we’re dreaming. There’s…nothing here.” The horizon was blank and dark and cold – nothing to see but themselves and all these keys.

He let go of the bundle in his hand, and they fell with a ringing sound onto the rest below.

“Where are we?” Callum asked, but turned sharply when she gasped and flapped her wings in agitation. There was a strange, faint glow of red light coming from beneath the keys. Cerys gasped and flapped even harder, and he lifted a hand to steady her. “Something’s down there,” he observed out loud, and reached for the strange glow, the keys going all the way up to his elbow as he dug down towards the source of the light.

It was the cube Rayla had retrieved from the Lodge, the one he had seen countless times over the years and never knew was anything other than a random knickknack. He lifted it in his hands, and his dæmon moaned with distress.

“What? It’s just the glowy toy cube thing.”

“Callum…” Cerys shivered. “Oh Callum, _please_ be careful. Something feels very wrong…”

He turned it over, and stared at the glowing rune. It should have been the symbol for Sky magic, but it was red, and looked like the symbol on Claudia’s spell book…

Something lanced Callum’s heart, and he bowed over in anger and sorrow. Sky magic had just been taken from him, all over again. He felt like nothing, like he was completely worthless without it – like he was incompetent and incapable of _anything_.

And that _hurt_.

“No!” he cried out, flinging the cube away from him, not wanting any reminders of his abject failure.

It spun through the air, and his breath snagged in his throat as a lone, hooded figure stood in the gloom and caught the cube with ease.

Cerys yelped and hunkered down even closer to Callum’s neck. “Who is that?” she whispered in his ear.

Callum didn’t answer out loud, but he pressed his fingers into her feathers for reassurance. Slowly, clumsily, he stood up, but as he tried to move away from the pile of keys, he lost his balance and slipped. Cerys flapped her wings and toppled sideways, and he paused to scoop her up in his arms before he started towards the figure in the distance.

This was a really strange place; light from somewhere else seemed to be filtering down and following Callum’s every move, and the same thing was happening to the other person, except it was coming from the ground, somehow…

His footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, like they did in the throne room. The faint red glow was brighter around the person. His dæmon nestled so close to his neck that Callum thought she meant to press herself right into his shoulder, into his body, and stay there.

After a period that felt at once an age and no time at all, Callum was standing within range, and he regarded the figure suspiciously. A part of him was intensely curious about the situation, the change to the cube, and the other person who might have answers; another part of him listened to Cerys’ distress, and he resolved to be careful as he proceeded.

“Who are you?” he asked in a calm, steady voice.

For a long, infinite, agonising moment, neither of them moved, and the silence was deafening.

Then, they turned, and started slowly towards Callum, moving into the halo of light he was standing in. When they were standing before him, they lifted their hood –

And Callum was gazing at himself, at his own face, strangely backward and unfamiliar to the one he saw in the mirror. The shock of it sent a bolt down his spine, like his first attempt at the fulminis spell. The apparition kept walking towards him, and he tried to spring into a battle stance, like Rayla had shown him, but he realised too late that he had planted his back foot too far away, and that they were closer together than the width of his shoulders – Rayla would have kicked him to the ground for such sloppy footwork if she were here to witness it. Never minding the way he tucked his thumbs in, so that all his opponent had to do was force his hand into a fist and he’d crush his own digits.

“Callum, don’t be frightened.”

Wow, did his voice really sound like that?

Cerys flapped her wings, heart beating frantically. There was another collared dove sitting on the guy’s shoulder, and she just gazed at them both placidly, not even ruffling a single feather. Callum fell out of his terrible fighting stance and tried to cover his awkwardness by rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m not,” he told the other Callum. “I’m just…”

“Confused,” they both said at the same time, leaning towards each other in a near perfect mirror image.

Except that the apparition smiled knowingly, and he just stared back blankly. Cerys fanned her wings like she meant to take off, but she stayed on his shoulder; the other Cerys didn’t bat an eyelid.

“Of course you are. You tried Dark magic for the first time.” He shook his head, almost sadly, eyes closed in a friendly gesture, lifting the still glowing, not-quite-right cube that was missing the Sky rune. “No one expects that to be easy.”

Callum lifted his hand to gesture uselessly. “But that’s the thing, it was easy.” He turned back to face his doppelganger head on. “ _Too_ easy.” He shrugged. “Even though I know it’s wrong.”

The other Callum tilted his head, and gave him a distinctly calculating look, one that Cerys compared to the kind of look he might give Ezran when he was trying to suss out what his little brother was up to when he was pretending to be innocent.

“But is it really so wrong?” came the question, in a low, calm tone.

“Yes.” Callum replied.

The other person looked down at the cube resting on his hand, the red rune facing upwards, and held it out closer to Callum, like a peace offering.

“Is it, though?” he hedged with a smile.

Cerys flapped her wings again, trembling, and the other dæmon remained completely still. She was finding the other dove incredibly unnerving – there was no…spark, no personality. Like she wasn’t entirely there, and it was freaking Cerys out.

“Yes,” Callum said again with a frown.

“Is it?” the question came again, the tone now teasing.

Callum felt this prick at his nerves, and he suddenly felt like a little kid again, being talked down to like he couldn’t possibly know any better.

“Yes!” he argued back, his voice echoing in the big space of…wherever they were, and he recoiled from the other person, folding his arms and trying not to come across as petulant. Was he really having an argument with his own reflection?

“Callum, look at me.” He implored, and Callum reluctantly did so. “You’re looking at yourself. You need to accept your destiny.”

“I can’t do that.” Callum sagged, thinking of what Lujanne had said.

He wasn’t sorry he had smashed the primal stone, because it had saved Zym’s life, but he was sad that he had lost his one chance to be a mage.

“You’re a human,” the simple statement hurt. The other Callum started pacing back and forth as he spoke. “You weren’t born with an Arcanum to do Primal magic,” he turned around to face Callum again, still holding the cube out towards him. “But you _were_ born to do magic.”

Callum’s heart leapt in his chest, the smouldering coals of his hope threatening to fan themselves into a fresh blaze.

“The kind of magic humans can do.” Something in the tone and expression changed. “You can have _unlimited_ power.” He said softly.

Callum blinked, and the cube had changed. All of the Primal runes were gone, and replaced by that strange, twisted glyph, and they were all glowing red.

“And you can _choose_ what to _do_ with that power!” he went on passionately. “You can make a real difference in the world!”

That was what Rayla had said that night. That they could make things better, together. That was what Callum wanted more than anything. He had lost two parents to the war with Xadia, and he didn’t want anyone else to suffer like that. He still didn’t understand _why_ everyone kept fighting, even though it was pretty obvious neither side would gain much ground, and countless lives would be lost needlessly as a result.

He wanted to change that.

“All you need to do now, is accept it.” He lifted the cube up, his expression still calm and calculating. “Your destiny is already written,” he said emphatically, like he was merely repeating a fact that everyone knew and understood to be true, like gravity pulled everything earthward.

Cerys didn’t like the look on his face, but the thought of having the power to affect change in the world…she understood what that could mean, despite her misgivings. They stood there for another long moment, the mirror image holding the cube out towards Callum, while his heart beat painfully under his ribs. The empty air was taut, hung heavy with expectancy. Callum glanced at the other dæmon, and she gazed back placidly.

By contrast, the other Callum spoke with a ringing finality in his tone. “Accept your destiny.”

He reached forward tentatively. It…wasn’t really all that different to Primal magic, was it? Just a different way of doing the same thing. Magic had done a lot of good for the human kingdoms, allowed them to thrive… He was so close; close to being a Mage again, close to being able to do all the things he wished for.

“Callum,”

He jumped and spun round at the sound of the achingly familiar voice, and he felt like something warm and comforting had been poured over his head. There was his stepfather, sitting on his throne with his dæmon by his feet, both of them chained and shackled in place. He spoke clearly and emphatically, with the same kind of passion he used when he was giving a speech at Court on a very important matter.

“You are free. You are free from both the past _and_ the future.”

Epira sat up straighter, lifting the chains around her and whined lovingly to Cerys, who bobbed on Callum’s neck and cooed back, deeply reassured by the familiar gesture. It was him, it really was him. Watching over Callum and Cerys from the other side, like he had promised.

“ _Nothing_ is written in stone. Fate is a _lie_!” he drew himself up, the way only a King could. “You _are_ free!”

Callum wished he could run to his father and pull the chains from him, hold him one last time and tell him that it was okay and that he _did_ love him, _did_ think of him as his father, that he didn’t think he had ever tried to replace the parent Callum had never known.

The other Callum scowled, and held the cube out again. In a voice just as impassioned as Harrow’s, but for different reasons, he proclaimed, “Look inside yourself, Callum. This _is_ your destiny. You can’t deny it,”

Callum hesitated, before reaching for the cube again. He was curious, uncertain, not entirely sure who he trusted or distrusted more. Epira growled, long and deep in her throat, the way she would to make another dæmon back down from a disagreement.

Cerys flapped her wings, trembling.

“I love you.” She told Callum. “So much. I stand with you, whatever you choose. But Callum, _please_ be careful.”

He looked up as she said this, into the face of the other Callum, and the world shifted and lurched around him. The colours drained out of every surface in that strange dark plane, and something stretched across his face, like the ugly and scheming smile could no longer contain it. A grim mask of mottled grey skin, and eyes like pitch staring out of a gaunt face that was twisted into the kind of smile Callum associated with Viren.

It was only visible for a brief moment, but in that split-second Callum saw the future it promised – a version of him twisted beyond recognition, warped into something his loved ones would not recognise. Someone who ruthlessly cut down opposition and used everyone and everything as a means to justify the ends _he_ saw fit, with no regard for the feelings or wishes or aspirations of anyone else.

“No!” Callum shouted, pulling his hand back like he had been burnt. “I get to choose who I want to be.”

“Your destiny is _already_ written,” came the snarled reply.

Callum thought of his father, of his brother and Rayla, and of his mother. It filled him with warmth, and it steeled his resolve. “No!” he pulled himself up straight, refusing to back down. He was never, _ever_ letting anyone tell him who and what to be again. Not this apparition, not the royal Court, no elf or human – _no one_. “Destiny is a book you write yourself!” he proclaimed passionately.

The other Callum – whatever he really was – gave up the fight, like all the energy and motivation had drained out of him. The hand holding the cube fell limply by his side, and the ghoulish glow faded completely. He let go, and it fell through the ground into some strange, swirling portal, and vanished. The apparition lost its colour, with cracks and lines coming to the surface, and suddenly there were deep fissures all over its body, lurid and bright purple, like Claudia’s eyes when she was casting spells.

Callum took a step back, and Cerys shrieked with surprise. They watched with a mixture of horror and relief as the other Callum flashed with white light and crumbled into pieces before their eyes, into a pitiful pile of rubble on the ground. The bits disintegrated, like the burnt out carcass of a block of wood that had sat undisturbed on a bed of hot coals for too long, and the merest breath of wind blew it all away, like some strange and horrible nightmare.

Callum leant forward and heaved a great sigh of relief, exhaling heavily and running his hand through his hair. He turned to his Dad to share in this. “That was horrifying!”

Harrow looked at him, and in that somewhat unhelpful way that he had, stated simply, “It’s _your_ dream, kid.” He glanced away, and the throne slid neatly out of the circle of light Callum stood in.

He raised an eyebrow, and Cerys settled herself down comfortably now that they weren’t in immediate danger.

“Typical…” she muttered. Then, she nibbled his ear affectionately, and he leaned into her touch. “What do we do now? Are we really dreaming?”

Callum cast around the void in which they stood, looking to where the few points of reference had been before they had disappeared. The keys were gone, the…whatever _that_ had been, was gone, and now his father was too. _Were_ they even dreaming?

“I don’t know. What do you think?” he asked his dæmon, as he slowly started walking in the direction Harrow had gone, hoping to find _something_ in this nothingness.

Cerys shivered, and huddled close. “There was something… _wrong_ , and not just the Dark magic stuff. That dæmon…” she shuddered again, and Callum reached up to pull her into his arms. “It wasn’t _right_ , Callum. It was…ohh, I don’t know, but it was wrong! So, _so_ wrong…”

Callum paused, his heart pulsating painfully. He didn’t want to consider it, but…

“Do you think it was really him? Dad?”

She looked up into his face, and he saw the resolve and the certainty he was desperate for in her eyes. “Yes. It was.”

Callum hugged her close, overcome with emotion for a moment. Eventually, he set her back on his shoulder, and they pressed onwards into the nothingness around them.

It was so hard to tell whether it was only a couple of minutes or if it was hours later that Cerys spoke up again.

“Does time exist in this place?” she murmured softly, rolling her shoulders as she considered taking flight.

“Dunno. How long do you think it’s been?” he asked, lifting his arm and waving it through the still air, trying to gauge if there was any change in the environment. Something was shifting, but he couldn’t pinpoint _what_.

“It feels like only a few seconds. And decades, at the same time.”

“Huh.” Callum’s mouth twisted thoughtfully. “I thought that was just me.”

Cerys lifted her head suddenly, just as Callum felt it too.

“Is that…salt? Like, sea salt?” she asked tentatively.

“And sea gulls,” Callum raised his chin, turning into the soft breeze that was now beginning to pick up. The wind whistled in the distance, like it had when they were on the _Ruthless_. While the ground underfoot was solid and immobile, lights danced and glinted around them, just at the very edges of whatever light source was shining down on them.

Callum cast from side to side, taking in the changes to their surroundings with detached wonder. Cerys stood up straight and beat her wings with a soft cry of recognition, and he turned to look at what she had seen.

Captain Villads was standing beside them, leaning into the strengthening headwind, his dog dæmon at his heels.

“Ahoy, Callum!” he crowed as he drew closer conspiratorially. “I hear ye be needin’ a boat,”

Callum glanced at his dæmon, who looked back with the same mixture of excitement and trepidation. He looked around them, trying to find the sea that he could hear swelling nearby, and tapped his two index fingers together. “ _Am I_ be needing a boat?” he asked, trying not to sound hopeful. It was passing through his mind, and he shared the thought with Cerys, that they needed all the help they could get.

“You am!” Villads affirmed, reaching forward to clap him on the back. “For yer voyage! Into yer own heart and mind.” He drew back a little and came to stand by Callum’s side, and turned him around to see the rest of the deck.

It didn’t surprise Callum in the slightest to find himself back on the _Ruthless_ in this place. It was exactly where he needed to be. The wind sighed, creaking in the rigging, and the boat rolled with the motion of the waves.

Caught up in the bright mood the blind Captain had brought with him, Callum leaned forward, imitating his mannerisms, and proclaimed, “Let’s hope the weather be nice there!” Cerys threw her head back and gave a warbling coo as she fanned her wings before taking off into the wind with Berto.

Callum wasn’t sure if it was the next moment, or the next hour later, that the thought crossed his mind that time really didn’t seem to matter in this space. It was surreal and perplexing.

Lightning arced across the sky at some point, and the rain began in earnest, like it had when they had crossed the Weeping Bay. The boat lurched, and Callum lost his footing, stumbling on the slick decking and only just managing to catch the railing in time. He cried out in alarm, and cast about for Cerys, who was still flying above them somewhere in the gathering storm. The lightning was almost instantaneously accompanied by the crack of thunder, and the strange source-less light illuminated the billowing, brewing clouds all along the horizon.

Villads stood at the helm, head thrown back and cackling with laughter as his boat flew through the tumult. “Hoist the mainsail!” he crowed, letting go of the wheel so it spun crazily without a steady hand to guide it.

“What?” Callum started in alarm. “I don’t know how to hoist _any_ sails!”

Unconcerned with this, Villads picked up a coil of rope from the deck. “It’s _yer_ journey. You be the sail, and I’ll hoist ye!”

Callum blinked, and he was stood in the middle of the deck, the rope now wrapped around both of his wrists, and Villads yanked hard on the other end. Callum was propelled upwards into the rigging, right into the face of the storm.

“Find the wind, boy! Be like a wing!” Villads called up to him.

Another blink, and Callum _was_ the sail, headfirst into the wind, heart hammering in his throat. He could feel every tiny flicker and eb in the flow of the air around them, and every lurch of the waves beneath the boat. He felt incredibly unstable, _vulnerable_ even, and he wished fiercely that Rayla was there with him – he always felt safe and balanced when she was by his side, or at his back.

“Cerys!” he cried out desperately, and she swooped down out of the sky, feathers slick from the rain. “Cerys! Where are we going!”

“Wherever the wind takes us.” She called back, flitting this way and that as the winds shifted.

Above, Berto squawked loudly. “I have questions!”

“Look, I’ll show you,” Cerys answered Callum’s unasked question, and she tried to share with him the mechanics of flight. It was something neither of them had ever considered before; she had been able to change until they turned twelve, and then she was a dove there afterward, always able to fly. Callum had never given it any thought, never paid close attention to what went through her mind as she flew.

_Better late than never_ , came the soothing thought in the stream of sensations and images she was giving him.

Callum swallowed and nodded, paying close attention to his dæmon, to the boat he was attached to, and to the storm that raged around them. The strain in his shoulders started to take a toll, and his mind started to weary after who knew how long. Sometimes he looked up into the sky, and couldn’t see his dæmon, and sometimes he couldn’t see the boat below or the Captain steering it.

He cried out for help, feeling like no one could hear him, and closed his eyes against the endless darkness that stretched out far on the horizon, tossed by the storm. Something soft and warm pressed against his brow, and it stilled the lurching in his body, even if it did nothing to quell the tempest around him.

Callum opened his eyes again, and stumbled almost blind around the deck as the _Ruthless_ peaked and troughed through the waves, rain lashing in his face. The wheel was unmanned, and spinning wildly; he reached out to grab it and heaved to right the rudder back into what was hopefully the correct position. Cerys landed on his shoulder and nuzzled into his neck, and he pressed his face into her wet feathers with relief.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he begged in a small voice.

Cerys laughed softly. “I’m always here, Callum.” She looked upwards into the sky. “What do you think it looks like…from up there?”

“What do you mean?” he turned his eyes away from their course to look at her.

“Up there. A bird’s eye view, as it were. You’ve been looking at everything up close…try looking at it a different way.”

“Different _how_?”

“Like…this.” Cerys pictured the storm they were sailing through as the one in Claudia’s Primal Stone. Looking at it as a hawk would, instead of a mouse.

They examined it closely in Callum’s hands, standing calm and still in that strange, featureless place, trying to fathom the meaning. With a frown, he flexed his fingers, and mirrored the action he had taken on the Caldera the night Zym had hatched. He flung the orb at the ground with all his might to see _how_ it shattered, to understand how the energy released itself. The broken shards reassembled themselves, and he watched as the orb came back together, whole and complete, and back to his hands. He gazed down on the glass sphere, looking into its depths, watching the way the clouds brewed and the lightning forked, the distant rumble of thunder beneath his fingertips. The power of the Sky, ebbing and flowing, always moving and constantly changing. But observing wasn’t enough, he needed to _feel_ , experience it too.

He leaned in, trying to find the _Ruthless_ in the sea below, and when he did, he was down amongst the wreckage, hanging onto a barrel that kept him afloat. He felt the weight of the world pressing him down, and he felt _so_ tired.

At the sound of Villads’ voice, he looked up, blinking. “Your conscience is a messy place, boyo.” The sailor said conversationally. Callum dragged his head up again when he heard squawking, and the distant sound of wing beats. A supernaturally large Berto swooped out of the dark sky and scooped up both Captain and dæmon from the water. “Villads out!”

Berto crowed, “I’m _huge_!” as he disappeared into the gathering gloom.

Callum slumped forward, watching them go and wondering what to do now that he didn’t have a guide. The barrel slid from under him, and he flailed wildly for a moment to try and find something to hang onto. He slid beneath the waves, the weight pressing even harder against him as he sank. He couldn’t feel Cerys’ claws against his shoulder, and he cast around for her – but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The jetsam from the shipwreck melted away, and the light faded.

A deep, _terrible_ pain rose in his chest, and the nausea threatened to choke him as his lungs failed to draw breath. He tried desperately to cry out, to flail wildly for his dæmon, but she was gone. For the first time in his life, he was completely and utterly alone, and it was terrifying. His whole body hurt, stretching itself against the immense pressure that bore down upon him from above, trying to find Cerys in the endless nothingness. It was like someone had wrapped a vice around his heart and was wrenching it out of his chest, at the same time that he was being repeatedly punched in the stomach. There was no air in his lungs, he couldn’t draw breath no matter how hard he tried – and it _hurt_.

Someone called his name, or he thought they did. He could barely remember who he was, his sense of self severely damaged by his dæmon’s absence. A part of him was missing, and it ached just as much as the loss of the stone. This is who he was, and he kept losing the things most important to him. His magic, his soul…it felt like every good thing eventually left him.

A face rose in his mind, warm and kind; dark hair and eyes, a quick and ready smile that often twisted wryly at the corner. It eased something of the pain in his body as he sank deeper into the abyss.

The first person he could remember losing – he had lost another parent before that, but he couldn’t remember anything about them. Her absence had torn a hole in his heart, one he wasn’t sure had ever properly healed after all these years.

Was that a voice, calling out to him? Or was it just the inner voice in his mind, asking the vision not to leave him again?

Despite the stillness of the viscous water, his mind roared like the storm had – far too many things were vying for his attention, all at once.

Where was his dæmon, his heart? What did it mean to be the ‘wing’? Who was that who reached out to him in the darkness, begging him to _stay_? What did a storm – strike that, _all_ weather in the world, look like from above? Was it even possible to see all that information in one place? Some cultures called it the ‘breath of life’, so did that have anything to do with the wind? He’d read somewhere once that weather patterns drove climate patterns, which influenced how plants and animals grew and flourish – so was the same possible for people, in and of themselves?

“Breathe.” Came the soft voice again.

Or was it for the first time?

Someone _was_ speaking to him.

He remembered the first time he had felt breathless, unable to make his lungs cooperate – he had been in the Castle, and his mother had taken him aside to calm him down. Panic attack, that’s what they called it. When reality felt like it was imploding on you, and all you could see was the thin sliver of world in front of you. Recognising it for what it was forced the air back into his lungs, and he gasped, grateful for the air that rushed into his chest.

“Callum, you need to breathe.”

A hand was on his arm, and he was sitting on something soft. He missed her so much. He turned towards the comfort her presence brought like a flower turning towards the sun.

“You just need to breathe, sweetie.”

He opened his eyes, noticing he was in his stepfather’s room; the light was like that one time when a thick fog had laid wrapped around the Castle, and the sunlight had filtered dimly through it so the rooms and corridors were strangely lit.

Something settled on his shoulder, and he lifted his head, turning towards the movement as the comforting hands on his arm and back continued to rub soothingly against him.

Cerys was there, shivering and nuzzling close, and he reached for her clumsily, pulling her into his arms where he could never lose her again. Callum was still gasping, and he clutched his dæmon so hard she wriggled with discomfort, but she didn’t pull away from him, desperate to be close to her human, too.

Carefully, Callum unhooked his hands from Cerys, and set her on his lap, before lifting his hands to clutch his head. He needed to say something, to get the words out before he exploded from the internal pressure.

“I feel so overwhelmed with everything – I- I have so many thoughts, things racing through my head-”

Cerys in his lap, the Primal Stone in his hands, his mother’s hands on his shoulders, Rayla’s bright and reckless smile, the push and pull of magic as the spell coursed through his fingers, Zym’s happy and chirpy squeaks, the memory of how a wing beat pushed the air out of the way and _lifted_ , holding his father in his arms for the very last time, the way the storm brewed and simmered inside the Primal Stone, the brush of his dæmon’s feathers against his skin every time she took off from and landed on his shoulder, how the weather linked together and created climates across the world, Rayla’s arms around him after he had failed to find the connection he was so desperate to make because she was relieved he was safe, looking simultaneously at the memories of looking into and out of the Primal Stone…

The pressure on Callum’s head was _unbearable_. His lungs spasmed in response.

“Sometimes you just need to focus on the present, take a _deep breath_ , and just _be_.”

He bowed his head and tried to swallow past the fresh gasp that was clawing its way up his throat.

“Sometimes things can get so complicated, that our minds can’t _quite_ sort them out alone.” His mother told him, in that gentle and stable way of hers that made him believe everything was going to be all right. She leaned back to give him space, and Callum slowly followed her, trying to shake his mind back into coherent order. “But when you slow down and let yourself _breathe_ ,”

Callum shifted, turning around completely to face her, and just drank in the sight through the haze the panic attack had settled around the edges of his vision. She was every bit as beautiful, strong and kind as he remembered, and his heart ached to know that his memory had not failed him after all these years. Callum blinked at some movement on the floor, and noticed Kaki for the first time; the dhole lifted his head and whined plaintively to them, and Cerys fluttered to sit on his shoulder where he licked her plumage lovingly. The contact sent a warm wave through Callum’s body, and he looked up again into his mother’s face as she continued to speak.

“Your spirit and your body can catch up with your mind, and help out.”

She had told him all this before, when he was very little, and hearing it again with all the life experience he had had since then, it suddenly all made so much more sense.

“I just have to…breathe?” he asked tentatively.

“Nothing else. Just breathe.” Kaki told him gently as he nuzzled his human’s leg in lieu of her hands, which were holding Callum’s. “Be present and _breathe_.”

Callum closed his eyes and did just that, counting in his head to make sure the exhalation was longer than the inhalation, and he felt everything begin to slow down. He was aware of the mattress beneath his, his mother’s hands holding his, Kaki’s fur underneath Cerys’ claws, the soft light in the room, and the gentle sound of his own breathing.

She smiled, the way he remembered and loved and _missed_.

“To know something truly and deeply, you must know it with your head, hand, and heart.” She stood up slowly, and reached for him, and Callum fell into her warm embrace. “Mind, body, and spirit.”

In his mother’s arms, the ache in his heart eased. The pressure on his mind subsided, and he just stayed there, free from every thought save the acknowledgement of each sensation as it came and went – like the way she stroked his hair, like she used to when he was little.

“I love you, with all of myself,” she murmured. “And I always will.”

“I love you too.” He affirmed, burying his face in her shoulder.

Cerys snuggled in close against Kaki’s neck, and he whined happily, tail thumping against the floor as he wagged it.

In the peaceful stillness of his mother’s arms, a thought floated to the surface of Callum’s calm mind, and he took a long, deep breath. Being inside the Primal Stone with Villads wasn’t all that much different from looking up at the sky, or being in someone’s embrace when you were anxious and scared. Like to be in the world was to _be_ inside a Primal Stone. And…if that were the case, he supposed every breath any of them took was suffused with magic, with _life_.

Callum remembered that when he was up in the rigging of the boat, he had effectively _been_ a wing, guiding the _Ruthless_ through the storm. Villads has said something about the sail being a wing, and talked about how the flow of air over its surface created the _lift_ needed for movement, for flight. And Cerys had shown him how her own wings worked, how she pushed and pulled them through the air, and in turn the air lifted her off the ground.

And then something clicked into place in his mind.

Callum didn’t need to find wings of his own – he could make use of the air currents that were constantly, _always_ around him. The air moved, whether in the merest breeze, or the mightiest storm, and in and out of his own lungs, with every breath he took. It was the same for every living thing – they all shared the same air, the same sky. He didn’t need wings to partake in that experience; he effectively _was_ a wing, in that sense, because he was always engaging in the process.

His heart swelled with the realisation.

Callum leaned in when his mother shifted him in her arms and kissed his cheek tenderly. “Are you ready?” she asked, stroking his face as she looked him in the eye.

“Yes.” His heart quivered again, painfully this time, and Cerys rushed back to his arms in response. “Thank you, Mom.”

She cupped his face in both of her hands, and pressed her brow against his. “I believe in you, sweetie. Now,” she added after she kissed his forehead, and a spark of mischief danced in her eyes. “Jump to it! You’ve got important work to do.”

Callum put the memory of this strange place into a safe corner of his mind, with the image of his mother and her dæmon sat beside her in a place where he would be able to remember, if things ever got that difficult and scary again.

“I’ll make you proud,” he promised.

Her expression softened even further, and she squeezed him lovingly. “You already have.”

Callum closed his eyes, and let everything melt away; the feeling of her presence lingered in his heart, and he focused on the feel and weight of Cerys in his arms. A part of him had known for a long time now that this was all happening somewhere inside him, and now that he had what he needed, he had to make his way back to his body. It took a bit more time, but it was so easy by comparison, especially now that the thoughts in his mind weren’t swirling like a maelstrom. He found himself, where he had lost consciousness, and slid back into his own skin.

He opened his eyes, taken aback by his physical body’s reaction, and gasped for air in the first instance. The lingering feeling of his mother’s voice settled comfortably in his chest, and he just focused on the immediate present: the rocky cave floor beneath him, the gentle breeze flowing past the cliff face, Cerys leaning heavily against Cornix as the crow dæmon bent down to check she was all right; Rayla’s wide, violet eyes that stared at him in a mixture of shock and relief, and something else he couldn’t identify; her knees pressed against his.

“Oh! Look, you’re awake now,” she laughed nervously, and Callum’s heart lurched with sympathy and guilt. She was trying to hide something, how bad had his condition been? He must have scared her quite badly. “You’re even lookin’ cheery,”

As Rayla stumbled to cover her own anxiety, he looked into her face, which had in the short time they had known each other become very dear to him. She was the first person to call him a Mage, to recognise that part of himself he didn’t even know existed, and he couldn’t help but wonder what things would have been like if she hadn’t.

Callum came back to himself, grounded by Rayla’s closeness and the familiar sound of her voice. He could feel the wind more acutely than ever before, and the sensation flooded his body the way it had when he had held the Primal Stone in his hand.

It was going to be all right. He knew what to do now.

He was a Mage. His dæmon was by his side. And he felt like _Callum_ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess I may be projecting my own theories into this chapter, because I’m sure the contents of this dream will be explored and explained in later seasons, but I’m personally pretty certain there was SOME kind of outside influence trying to sway Callum at the start of his dream, and that it wasn’t all purely stemming from his mind. I feel like something external was genuinely trying to tempt him, but he resisted it and did his beautiful piece about destiny being a book you write yourself, gave the dark magic apparition the finger and moseyed right along towards his Sky arcanum. I could be completely wrong, but I get the strong feeling that Aaravos had a hand in it, whether directly or indirectly, and I can’t for the life of me put my finger on why that is beyond the expressions on the apparition’s face and the way he drops the corrupted cube at the end. I thought it was just me, but the relatives I begged and bullied into watching the show with me thought so as well. I look forward to seeing where the series takes this plot thread :)


	24. Big Feelings Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-season 1: When Harrow finds his sons at each other’s throats, he takes Callum aside for some big feelings time.

Harrow and Epira looked up in surprise when they heard the boys coming down the corridor, arguing heatedly. He laid down the papers he had been reading through for the High Council and slowly got up from his seat. Crossing the room, he opened the door just before his sons came abreast with him, and it was a while before either of them noticed his presence.

“I’m sorry!” Ezran insisted, wringing his hands as Kalila bounced around his feet in agitation in the form of a quivering rabbit. “Callum, really! I didn’t know they were lying-!”

Callum lifted his hands, looking just as agitated and close to tears as his younger brother, but keeping a slightly better lid on it. “Just leave it, Ezran. I’m done talking about this.”

“But you’re not _listening_ to me!” Ezran plucked at his sleeves, and recoiled with wide eyes when Callum brushed him off brusquely. “I didn’t mean for-”

Callum rounded on him, unable to contain his pent-up frustration anymore, and Harrow suddenly realised his clothes were damp all the way through. “Forget it! I am so mad at you right now, just leave me alone!”

Ezran baulked for a moment, and then pulled himself upright as his dæmon shifted into a wolf and snarled menacingly at Cerys. She responded by fanning her wings and fluffing herself up quite impressively for a dove, and shrieked loudly over Kalila’s growls.

“It’s not _my_ fault you don’t have the guts to talk to Claudia and always act stupid when she’s around,”

“Ezran,” Harrow said firmly, stepping into the conversation to diffuse the situation before it escalated any further.

But Ezran had hit a raw nerve, and it showed on Callum’s face; he briefly fluttered wordlessly as much as his dæmon before lashing out with, “You are such a dumb, little kid! That is the _last_ time I _ever_ listen to you! Stupid stuff like this is the reason no one wants to be friends with you!”

“Callum!” Harrow said loudly, putting a hand on his shoulder and making the boy jump in alarm at getting caught. “Boys, that’s enough. _Both_ of you,”

The pair of them snapped around to look first at Harrow, and then back at each other, and tears started welling in Ezran’s eyes before he turned on his heel and ran down the corridor, his dæmon a tawny coloured streak at his ankles. Callum blinked, stunned by the rapid shift, and buried his face in his hands with a groan.

Harrow waited for a long moment, letting Callum take a few deep breaths, before he put a hand on both of his shoulders. “What on earth was that all about?”

Callum gulped, and seemed more angry at himself than he was at Ezran now, and flailed for a moment to try and find traction again.

“Something…really stupid, and juvenile, and not worth wasting the King’s time with,” he said in a small voice, looking like he wanted to run away and be alone as well, and Harrow didn’t think that would help him right now.

Callum tried to bow and escape down the corridor in the opposite direction to Ezran, and started backward with a yelp when Epira jumped in his way to detain him. Harrow followed swiftly, and put a hand on Callum’s shoulder again, giving him a loving squeeze. “Wait, Callum,” he said gently. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

“We don’t have to.” Callum said thickly, torn between frustration, guilt, and shame. Cerys fluttered silently on his shoulder, betraying just how twisted up inside he was; he grabbed his dæmon and stuffed her into his jacket in an attempt to be less conspicuous.

Epira lowered her head and gave a small bark to hide her laughter, not wanting to make Callum feel even worse than he already did. Harrow used to do the same kind of thing to her when they were young – her tail was very expressive, and after she had settled Harrow would sit on her to try and hide their shared emotions. Of course, such tactics only ever made things even _more_ obvious.

Harrow smiled sadly, and gave him another squeeze. It took a long moment, but Callum eventually lifted his gaze to meet Harrow’s, and he saw how close to tears he still was.

“Let’s go down to the river.” Harrow said gently but firmly, closing the door and leading them both down the corridor.

Callum held still for a long moment, tense and coiled like a spring, but when Harrow put his arm around his shoulders, he deflated with a heavy sigh, and again put his face in his hands. By the time they had slipped out of the bustling Castle thoroughfare and through the side gate in the gardens, he was crying silently. Harrow gently but firmly led the way down to the river, his dæmon sandwiching Callum in on the other side in part for comfort, and to keep him from bolting. When they got to the pier, they both wordlessly sat down and pulled their boots off; sitting side by side, they dangled their feet over the edge, into the cool waters. Callum sighed, took a deep, heavy breath, and flopped backwards against the wooden planks with a soft _thud_.

After a pause that was long enough for it to go from comfortable to awkward, Harrow cleared his throat. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” he asked gently.

Callum slapped both hands over his face and groaned loudly. Cerys fluttered helplessly with growing agitation beside him, refusing to go near or even look at Epira. The mastiff dæmon lay down with her head on her paws, and waited patiently.

Eventually, Callum said through his fingers and gritted teeth, “I’m such an _idiot_!”

Harrow kept his face perfectly neutral. By and large, Callum and Ezran got on really well; they rarely ever argued heatedly or fell out with each other. But the age gap was starting to have an impact on their relationship; Callum was almost a teenager now, starting to find an interest in attracting romantic partners (or rather, one potential partner in particular), and Ezran was still young enough for those sorts of things to not be on his mind. And of course, because they were brothers, they both knew the absolute best way to wind each other up. It didn’t happen often, but they were both fully capable of going for the jugular, and Harrow felt afresh Sarai’s absence in their lives. She’d had a knack for understanding people, and mitigating conflict.

Callum sat up suddenly, and sprang to his feet. He started pacing back and forth across the pier, and Harrow sat up a bit straighter, lifting one foot out of the water so he could turn and keep Callum fully in his field of vision.

“Do we need to do big feelings time?” he asked cautiously.

The last time he had asked his son this question, Callum had blown up in his face with his frustrations, and then Viren had intervened and told him to stop being such a brat and ‘wasting the King’s’ time with his whining. The upshot was that Callum ran out of the room in tears and refused to speak to any of them for days, always shrinking shame faced into the shadows whenever he came across any of them, and Harrow had threatened to excommunicate Viren if he _ever_ dared interfere with his parenting again. He had been absolutely livid with Viren, and done his best to alleviate Callum’s unease, but the damage had been done, and was quite long lasting. They had a strained enough relationship already, without such outside interferences driving an even bigger wedge between them.

According to Amaya, Callum was a lot like his birth father in some respects; apparently, he had never been one to keep a firm lid on his emotions, either. And poor Callum was constantly stuck in situations where he _had_ to keep his thoughts and emotions hidden for the sake of diplomacy; he just wasn’t the kind of person who bottled things up easily, and he needed an outlet for it every so often. And today, it seemed that Ezran had been on the receiving end of the overflow.

Callum snarled, fists balled against his sides. “I have a big feeling,” he spat pugnaciously, shaking with all the emotions he had been trying to keep inside. “I’m a complete _idiot_ for believing the _stupid_ things Ezran comes up with!” as he spoke, his voice grew louder, and he gesticulated angrily as he spun on his heel for the next circuit of the pier. “He makes up stories, that I’m _dumb enough_ to believe, and if it doesn’t get me in trouble, it makes me look like a total moron!” he spun round again and met Harrow’s gaze directly. “And today, it got me soaked all the way through, Opeli yelling at me in front of the _entire_ Lower Council _and_ the dignitaries from Duren because I trekked water and pond weed into the Castle, and now Claudia thinks I’m a stupid _idiot_ -!”

He came to a halt, staring down at the wood beneath his feet, before closing his eyes, teeth and hands clenched. Then, Callum kicked at a bucket that was sitting on the pier, managing to get both it and one of his boots into the river. He stared after them, wide eyed, panting, as the reality of what he had done sank in. Then he crumpled and sat down where he stood, hands over his head, shoulders shaking with supressed sobs. Cerys, who had been flapping and fluttering wordlessly around his head during his angry tirade, landed heavily on his left shoulder and nuzzled into his neck with a soft coo. Harrow carefully got up and approached them both, crouching down beside Callum and putting an arm around him, careful to avoid his dæmon. Epira slid into the water and paddled after the boot.

Harrow smiled sadly, tucking Callum’s head under his chin. “I hear you.” He said quietly.

Callum unfurled himself enough so that his tear-stained face was visible. “ _Why_ does he do it?” he asked hoarsely.

“What did he say to you, exactly?” Harrow asked, patting his arm comfortingly.

Epira returned to them, and scrambled over the side of the peer. She stood, dripping wet, with Callum’s boot in her mouth. He gave her a very weak smile, and reached out to take it from her, mumbling his thanks as he looked away from her direct gaze. Epira stepped daintily away from them, and still managed to spray them all as she shook herself down. Callum recoiled, and Cerys shrieked as they were once again doused; Harrow lifted a hand somewhat uselessly to try and protect his son, and gave his dæmon a hard look as she padded over to his other side, where she flopped down in a heap.

“Not very helpful, Epira.” Harrow said stiltedly.

“My apologies.” She murmured softly.

Harrow sighed, and turned his attention back to Callum. He was holding his sopping wet boot between his hands, looking both rueful and grateful; he managed to meet Harrow’s gaze, and gave him a small smile.

“I’m sorry about that,” Harrow said quickly. “You were saying…?”

Callum sighed heavily, and set his boot aside. “Ez told me that a group of raccoons had told him there was some treasure behind that waterfall near the old mine shaft. And…” he gulped, looking sheepish. “I went to have a look. And there wasn’t anything. So I came home soaking wet, Soren laughed at me, and Opeli got mad. And Claudia thinks I’m a complete _dork_.”

Harrow thought carefully about his next words. Callum needed to be reprimanded for the way he had spoken to Ezran, and had handled the situation, but he also needed some reassurance. He’d had a really rough day, and he’d been struggling in general recently, so a delicate touch was required.

“Your brother doesn’t relate well to children his own age.” He said slowly and carefully. He patted Callum’s arm and let him go; they both gazed out across the river, watching it twist and turn into the dense foliage at the next bend. “And he really looks up to you,” Harrow went on, keeping his tone gentle as Callum clutched his boot to his chest, wringing it guiltily. “I think it’s because you’re both very empathetic. Not many your age are as emotionally mature as you,”

Callum scowled, and for a moment it looked like he was going to throw his boot back into the river. “I don’t _feel_ mature right now…” he snarled to himself. Cerys flapped down from his shoulder to one of the stakes that anchored the pier to the riverbed, and fanned her wings wide.

Harrow fought the urge to chuckle as he pressed his knuckles against Callum’s arm. “We all have our moments. It’s not easy,” he added as Callum straightened up a little and looked at him sidelong. “Acting Princely all the time. You have a right to feel and express your emotions, just like everyone else. But,” he added, becoming stern. Callum gulped and ducked under the frown Harrow was beginning to pull at him, and his dæmon fluttered to his lap to comfort him. “You could have handled that exchange with Ezran a _bit_ more constructively.”

Callum sank so low, Harrow thought the pier might swallow him whole. He looked like he wished it would.

“I know you were frustrated and upset with him, but there’s no need to get so confrontational. And he _did_ apologise. Next time just walk away-”

“But I _did_! Well, I _tried_ to,” Callum put his face in his hands again and sighed heavily. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. And I just…” he struggled for a moment before sighing again, this time in defeat. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. And, he kept insisting that he wasn’t making it all up.” That more than anything else seemed to be making him disgruntled. “Kid doesn’t know when to quit…”

Harrow gave him a wry smile, remembering the way he used to bicker with his cousins when he was Callum’s age. “Well, be that as it may, best not to say such things to him.” Callum gave him a pleading look. “There’s no need to go out of your way to be unkind. Your brother finds it difficult to make friends, and he looks up to you and really respects you. I’ll be having words with him, too.”

Callum scowled again. “It’s no wonder, when he behaves like _that-_ ”

“Callum,” Harrow said sternly, and he jumped before shrivelling with shame. “That’s uncalled for, and not very helpful.” After a long pause, in which he weighed his words carefully, Harrow added, “How do you think it makes Ezran feel when his big brother says something scathing like that?”

Callum exhaled heavily. “Pretty awful, probably,” he rubbed the back of his hand against his face, running the fingers of his other hand through his dæmon’s feathers. Then, he added vehemently, “I love him, but…sometimes,” he growled again with exasperation. “He is so infuriating! I _just_ wanted him to leave me alone…”

Harrow tried to keep his frown in check. Until now, the boys had been quite happy to share a room, but maybe it was time to rethink the arrangement. They were growing up, and Callum would need his own space soon enough. They wouldn’t be boys forever, and Harrow sometimes thought that if he blinked they might just sprout into fully grown men in the moment that he wasn’t looking. He used to think it was just one of those turns of phrases, when people told him not to blink when Ezran was a baby, or else he’d miss everything. Sometimes, it felt like only yesterday that Ezran was a little babe in arms, and that Callum fit neatly on Harrow’s shoulders. They were both growing up so quickly…

“I’ll have a word with your brother.” Harrow put a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder. “In the meantime, I think it best that you stay out of each other’s way for a while.”

Callum gazed glumly at his feet trailing in the water. “Yeah,” he agreed listlessly.

“Feeling any better?” Harrow hedged, hoping this conversation had helped in some way.

“Yeah.” Callum said a bit more firmly, and the small smile he gave him was genuine. “Thanks. I’m…sorry, for, y’know,” he shifted uncomfortably, and Harrow felt a needle lodge itself in his heart as Callum shuffled away, putting some distance between them. “Yelling at Ez, causing a scene, and disturbing you.”

Harrow closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The little bubble of warmth between them that had had Epira’s tail wagging had burst, and it drooped onto the wooden planks with an audible thud.

“I don’t… _mean_ to cause you any problems,” Callum said carefully, that guarded look coming back.

“Callum,” Harrow raised a hand to touch his face, but hesitated before he could follow through. “I-” he felt again the yawning chasm between them, and Sarai’s absence that made bridging the gap nearly impossible. “I hope you know, you can come to me, about anything. Anything at all.” He hesitated before settling for putting a hand on Callum’s shoulder, near to Cerys but not too close that they were in danger of touching. “I always have time for you,” he said emphatically, willing Callum to understand that.

The boy lifted his gaze again, not quite meeting Harrow’s eye, before looking away again, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thank you.” He said in a small voice.

Harrow tried to smile reassuringly, and to keep his pain hidden. “Right. Any more big, big feelings we need to air?”

Callum laughed softly, cradling his dæmon close in his arms, and shook his head. Cerys fluttered up onto his shoulder and rubbed her face against his cheek. He leaned into the contact, closing his eyes and smiling contentedly. “No. We’re good,”

Harrow chuckled as well, and patted his shoulder again. “Right, my boy. Let’s get you into some dry clothes.”

Epira stretched languidly as she stood up, and fixed him with a beady stare. “You should have thought of that _before_ you dragged him all the way down here.”

Cerys bobbed on Callum’s shoulder and snorted loudly. “Just as well his boots were already soaked.”

Callum gave her what was meant to be a hard look, but the affection was evident in his expression. “I thought you were meant to be on my side?”

Harrow stood up and stretched as well, and busied himself with Epira off to the side while his son argued with his dæmon.

“Admit it, you nearly threw yourself into the river. More than once.”

Callum flicked her beak. “Shut up, Cerys.”

She fluffed herself up and huffed loudly, beak turned skywards.

Callum folded his arms and looked up at her haughty stature. “You’re really digging the hole for us right now.”

Cerys nipped his nose. “Quiet, you.”

“You first,” Callum poked her on the keel.

Epira barked loudly as Opeli approached them along the bank. Harrow touched Callum’s shoulder blade, giving him a reassuring smile, and plenty of warning so that he had time to straighten himself up for the High Cleric.

“Lady Opeli,” Harrow said politely with an acknowledging bow. “How can I help?”

She straightened up, and Callum shrank subtly into Harrow’s shadow as her little owl dæmon fixed him with his lamp like eyes. “My King, Lord Symmons has requested a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. He is most anxious to discuss the Del Barian trade agreement with you.”

Harrow looked from his Cleric to his son, mind already made up. As a King, his people needed him, but right now as a father, his sons needed him more. He put a hand on Callum’s free shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Please tell him that I will schedule an appointment first thing on Monday. I will be unavailable for the rest of the week.”

Opeli bowed politely. “Your Majesty.” She bowed to Callum as well before leaving, and he scrambled to return the gesture, as damp and barefooted as he was.

The pair of them donned their socks and boots, and made their slow way back to the Castle. Callum seemed a lot calmer now, and joined in when Epira struck up a conversation with Cerys. Harrow was glad for it, but their talk had highlighted a few things to him. Namely, his short comings as a parent, and the rift between him and his son; he ruminated on these things as they walked back to the gate.

Harrow loved Callum dearly, and didn’t see any difference between him and Ezran in his eyes. But he wasn’t his son – as more than a few people had reminded him over the years, sometimes on a regular basis. And Sarai had wanted Callum to know about his birth father, to have some kind of relationship with him – and she had died before Callum was old enough for her to tell him anything. Callum almost always referred to Harrow as his ‘stepdad’, except with Ezran, and he wasn’t sure if that eased or tightened the knot of anxiety in his chest.

Once, years ago, a visiting dignitary had mistaken Callum for Ezran, commenting on how like Harrow he was because of his eyes. Callum had stared at the man, panicking, a moth Cerys fluttering on his shoulder, and blurted out that he was the King’s stepson. Watching the exchange had felt like a blow to his heart, and Harrow didn’t know which was worse: Callum’s obvious discomfort, or the fact that he had inherited his birth father’s eyes, which had been mistaken for Harrow’s own.

Epira put an extra spring in her step to account for the melancholy of Harrow’s thoughts, and he sighed, drawing himself up and pulling himself together. Callum didn’t notice, too busy talking to his dæmon, for which Harrow was grateful. By the time they were back inside the Castle, Harrow had a handle on his own emotions, and gave his boy a smile, which he returned a little awkwardly.

“Um,” Callum wrung his hands together for a moment, looking away. “Thank you. For…” he gestured uselessly towards the riverside gate.

Harrow held a hand out to him. “You’re welcome. You’re always welcome.”

Callum looked from his hand up into his face. Then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Harrow’s middle. This took him by surprise, but Harrow bundled him up in his arms and held him close, resisting the urge to kiss the crown of Callum’s head. Cerys landed on Epira’s back, and the mastiff dæmon turned her head and nuzzled at the dove’s wings lovingly. Little displays of affection like this were relatively few and far between, but they always warmed his heart; he didn’t feel guilty in expressing his love openly when Callum initiated, because he knew for definite that that contact was welcome.

Harrow waited for Callum to let go, and they walked back inside in silence. Cerys stayed perched on Epira’s shoulders, and the dog’s tail wagged in response.

“Callum?” Claudia stepped out of a corridor behind them, and the boy jumped out of his skin, face going red.

“H-hi! Claudia! Wassup?” he cringed at himself, and Harrow again fought off the urge to reach out. The last thing the boy needed was his father fussing over him like an old maid in front of his crush.

Claudia gave him a wry smile, and bent down to scratch her dæmon’s ears as he wound lazily around her ankles. “Ez wanted to say something to you,” she turned to look down the corridor and good-naturedly chivvied Ezran out into the open.

Harrow stood, poised to jump in and separate them if need be. Callum’s expression went blank, and Cerys flapped her wings in agitation, taking off and landing on his shoulder. Ezran looked down at the stone flagged floor between them with a gulp, before lifting his gaze to meet his brother’s.

“I…” he swallowed. “I’m sorry I got you wet. I didn’t…” he looked down at his boots again. “I didn’t mean to…” he stopped and took a step back as Callum walked towards him. Kalila shifted from a gangly hare into a sparrow, then a cat, a hummingbird, and a butterfly in rapid succession.

Callum smiled gently, and scooped Ezran up in his arms. He pulled back initially, wide eyed, but then relaxed and leaned forward when Callum said, “I’m sorry I got mad and yelled at you.”

Ezran’s shoulders shook silently, and Cerys fluttered to the floor were Kalila changed into a wood pigeon, and nuzzled in under her wings with a distressed little coo. Salem padded over and licked Kalila’s head as Claudia stepped closer to the pair of them.

“Okay, Ez?” she asked gently, and Ezran nodded without untucking himself from under Callum’s chin.

Callum gave her a warm smile and mouthed ‘thank you’ at her. She beamed and gave him a very exaggerated double thumbs up before she and her black cat dæmon disappeared down the corridor. Harrow chuckled, and stepped forward to envelope both of them in his arms, intensely glad that the spat between his boys hadn’t lasted long. Of course, he would be having words with Ezran when they were alone, there would be repercussions for them both, and he would be keeping a closer eye on the pair of them while he tried to figure out how best to broach the subject of moving rooms. Right now, though, he just enjoyed this moment with his two boys.

Epira paced forward, tail wagging, and Kalila turned into a chocolate Labrador before nuzzling under Epira’s neck and whining happily. Cerys flapped up to her back again and settled in contentedly; Kalila followed close behind, becoming a jackdaw and snuggling into her feathers.

Ezran pulled a face and said ruefully, “You’re still wet.”

Callum laughed softly. “It’ll dry off,” he said with a shrug.

Harrow chuckled as well, and then ruffled Callum’s hair, enjoying the affection and amusement in his son’s expression. “We’d best get you into something dry. Come on, boys.”

They walked down the corridor together, Harrow sandwiched between his sons while their dæmons perched on Epira’s back. Callum coughed awkwardly and tried to start an innocuous conversation, and Ezran latched onto it eagerly. By the time they were back to Harrow’s rooms, Callum in fresh dry clothes, they were chatting away amicably, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Being a parent wasn’t easy, and sometimes Harrow thought he was failing miserably at the task. But then sometimes, like today, he saw just how grown up, mature and considerate his boys could be, given a little nudging here and there, and he knew he was teaching them the right things.

Callum and Ezran set up a game of chess while Harrow prepared some drinks, and Epira bumped her head against his hip. When he looked at her, he saw the sadness, grief and hope that was clinging to his own heart.

“She’d be proud.” Was all she said, as she turned her gaze back to his sons, bickering good-naturedly about who got which colour.

Harrow smiled sadly and scratched Epira’s ears. “Yes. She would be,”


	25. Because She's Rayla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Episode 5: Nyx doesn’t understand why Rayla would be prepared to risk her own life after what the elf did, but Callum does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been a bunch of requests for scenes from season 3, and as I’ve been rewatching the series through the latest lockdown in our area, I’ve been pausing the show to write out the corresponding chapters. They are drafted in chronological order, however the order in which they are edited and posted is anyone’s guess xD especially considering I have a large list of half-drafted pre-season 1 scenarios also waiting to be finished and edited. I also want to devote more time to my other story, so updates on here may be slow for a while. In the meantime, please enjoy some shameless rayllum fanservice this week <3

Zym was safe at last, now tucked up and dozing between the Moon mount’s front paws. The last twenty-four hours were a complete blur to Rayla; just moving from one moment, one crisis, to the next. Cornix perched on the Shadowpaw’s horn, checking on the little dragon and watching the raven dæmon closely as Nyx stood in the centre of the ambler’s saddle, contemplating her rescuers. Slowly, Rayla pulled the rope back up over the side, coiling it into a pile by her feet as she went. Callum was by her side, at a respectable distance, watching their progress across the desert while Cerys also kept an eye on the Skywing elf from the side of the saddle.

Finally, Nyx spoke, and the dove dæmon fluffed herself up with a little reflexive _harrumph_ in response while Cornix sank into a defensive stance.

“So, why did you save me? Even after I tricked and betrayed you?” Nyx sounded genuinely puzzled. Then, her dæmon flapped his wings with a caw and she put on an air of jauntiness that eliminated any belief Rayla had of her contrition. “It’s because I’m charmin’, right? Despite it all you can’t help but like me?” she smiled appealingly, and her dæmon adopted a bashful air.

Cornix hunched his shoulders and hissed menacingly at him, at the same time Cerys puffed out her chest and flapped her wings like she meant to charge the raven. The Skywing dæmon shivered and hunkered down closer to his elf’s neck, cowering under their combined disapproval and suspicion.

“Nope.” Rayla said simply as Cornix took off and swooped past Nyx, deliberately harrying the other dæmon as he went. “That’s not it. I do not like you at all.” Cornix came to land on the side of the saddle beside her, and next to Cerys who was still watching the other dæmon closely.

“Oh.” Nyx was still confused. She folded her arms as she asked again, “Then, _why_?”

Rayla hauled up the very end of the rope and bent down to secure it with the rest where it wouldn’t trip anyone up. She was tired, her body and mind ached all over after what they had just gone through, and she didn’t feel like justifying herself to anyone right now.

Beside her, Callum turned around to face Nyx. In that gentle, heartfelt way he had, he said softly, like it was the most simple and obvious thing in the world, “It’s because Rayla is a hero.”

She straightened up and stared at him incredulously. “What?”

“Rayla saves people. She’s _brave_.” He went on.

Rayla quickly glanced at Nyx, who was as nonplussed as she was, and back at Callum. Between them, Cornix flapped and hopped back in surprise, holding his wings like he was uncertain about taking flight. Cerys looked up at him, with the same gentleness her human held in his expression as she met the crow dæmon’s gaze.

“She does what’s right, even if it puts her own life in danger.”

Rayla stood up straight and took a half step back, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, like a dazed bird. She saw again in Callum the man he was growing into, the confidence and assuredness that governed his behaviour and choices. And…it was his faith in _her_ that spurred this heartfelt speech.

“And even when the odds seem impossible,” he tilted his head in her direction, before bringing his gaze up to hers, speaking more to her than to Nyx. “Even when it means her own people might misunderstand and turn against her.” Callum stepped towards her, bridging the gap between them. Cerys leaned forward, not quite touching Cornix, and the stream of silent affirmations from her left Rayla as speechless as Callum’s words. “Rayla is selfless, strong and caring. That’s what makes her a hero.”

All she could do was stand there and listen, heart racing, the one thought chasing itself round and round in her head, hardly daring to believe it was true.

_This is how he sees me. This is what he thinks of me. In his eyes I’m everything I doubt myself to be_.

“That’s what makes her…Rayla.” Callum concluded, his voice warm and gentle.

It felt like a cliché, something right out of one of Ethari’s romance novels; his eyes seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, his expression was so inextricably tender, and he was looking at her like nothing else in the world even existed.

At the very corner of her vision, Rayla thought she saw Nyx roll her shoulders in a shrug, and was dimly aware of the elf’s footsteps as she walked away. But she couldn’t focus on that, because her attention was on Callum.

He smiled at her, and she realised with a fresh jolt how close they were. Their hands were both on the side of the saddle, their dæmons between them, so close she only needed to lift her hand a few inches and she could touch Cerys. The combination of Callum’s words, Cerys’ equally tender gaze, and Rayla’s paralysis had left Cornix near drunk, unable to move as Callum leaned closer still.

“You are so…” he murmured softly, trailing off almost dreamily.

After the disaster at the oasis, Rayla didn’t trust herself to know how to read the situation. Heart fluttering, her gaze darted all over his face, trying desperately to marshal her thoughts into order and analyse the-

He leaned forward, eyes closed, and pressed his lips against hers.

For a long, agonising moment, she started with wide eyes at the gesture, dimly aware of Cerys snuggling into Cornix’s neck with the same loving affection, but she was too wrapped up in her own sensations to pay much attention to their dæmons.

He was kissing her.

Callum was _kissing her_.

Warmth blossomed in her chest in response, and she closed her eyes, pressing back and reciprocating the gesture. Almost immediately Callum stepped back, wide eyed himself, and she just watched him with detached amazement, her mind not completely caught up with their actions.

“Oh no,” he scrambled, verbally tripping over as he rushed to explain himself. “I’m- I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he glanced away nervously, and then back at her tentatively, like the proverbial Moonstrider cub caught under the midday sun. “I-I just got carried away?”

Wow, she loved this blundering dork.

“Next thing I knew, my – my lips were getting _way_ ahead of me, and-”

“Shu’up.” She said with a roll of her eyes. She couldn’t think of an elegant or tactful way to tell him to stop, that he didn’t need to justify or excuse himself for acting on his feelings. Feelings that were very much returned.

Callum gave his head a little shake. “Whut?” he asked, his tone soft and clueless.

Rayla reached out and grabbed his scarf to pull him closer, and he winced like he was anticipating a verbal attack, like the one she had launched at him by the lake in the oasis. Beside them, their dæmons just stood close beside one another, feathers touching, as lost in each other’s eyes as much as their people were. Rayla’s gaze slid down to Callum’s lips, and then back up to his eyes; he looked uncertain, wrong footed, like he didn’t know how to react.

Heart in her throat, Rayla threw caution to the wind. After a beautiful speech like that, what did she really have to lose? Was there any other way to interpret his words other than he was as infatuated with her as she was with him?

Without stopping to dwell on the uncertainties and insecurities that crept in the back of her mind, Rayla leaned in and kissed his lips again. He was, as always (and apparently in all things), warm and soft – and reciprocated her advance tenderly.

Cerys nuzzled into Cornix’s neck, and he reached down to rub his beak against her back in reply, crooning softly.

Gently, Rayla let go of Callum’s scarf to place her palm over his heart; she could feel it beating light and fast through his clothes, matching her own pulse. His arm came up and carefully wound itself around her waist, and his hand settled on her back, over the harness for her swords. By unspoken assent, they both drew back, just enough to be able to see each other, and she revelled in the look he gave her.

Under his gaze, she really believed him. That she was special, talented, honourable…that she _mattered_.

Her heart, which had been deeply wounded by her ghosting, was bruised and torn – but still whole. And the gentle expression on his face, the tender look in his eyes as he murmured, “Wow…” was like a soothing balm that eased the ache in her chest that had been gnawing at her since they had arrived at the Silvergrove.

Callum closed his eyes first, and she met him halfway as she slid her arms around his waist. His other hand came to rest on the small of her back, and he kissed her gently, with the softest pressure, and the warmth in her chest spread through her whole body. She felt so… _alive_ , like every nerve in her being was thrumming.

Cerys and Cornix leant back, fanning their wings, and they both took off together, flying and spinning through the air around their people, exalting in the emotions and sensations of the moment. It was a nice feeling, like the joy Cornix had always taken in flight even before he had settled, and the weightless feeling of being very high up on a swing.

Their dæmons came to rest on their shoulders, and groomed each other’s feathers as they kept kissing. Rayla didn’t want to let Callum go, didn’t want this moment to end; his arms were as warm and soft as his lips, his touch incredibly gentle and tender.

He was a graceful idiot, and she loved him just as he was. And, though she hardly dared to believe it, she thought he loved her too, faults and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who’s left kudos and comments on this story. I love hearing your thoughts and suggestions, your feedback helps me to improve on my writing, and after everything that’s happened in 2020, you’ve helped my sanity stay intact xD Happy New Year, I raise a glass to your outstanding good health and hope that the new year is more stable and constructive for us all <3


	26. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Episode 3: A human has been captured at the border and brought to Lux Aurea for interrogation. Due to the prisoner’s specific communication needs, Kazi is asked to assist as a translator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a brain wave regarding the season finale xD there have been requests for collectively the whole of that episode, so I’ve decided to break it down into several self-contained chapters, each one focusing on a specific event or perspective, that follow in relative chronological order and will be posted as such. I’ve delayed writing out the battle because I wanted to get a feel for Janai’s dæmon first, and this chapter happened as a result of experimenting with his character and design. While I work on this side side project I will probably churn out some other scenarios that are currently being drafted, but hopefully the collective Final Battle will be completed soon.  
> On a side note, for Kazi’s dæmon think of a little dormouse with a black and red colour scheme.

Kazi stood at the top of the stairs, and gulped.

They had been asked to assist Golden Knight Janai, the Queen’s sister, with an important and delicate matter. Of course, they were happy to help in whatever way they could, although this was the strangest assignment they had ever been given.

Noisette, their little ember mouse dæmon, nuzzled warmly against their neck from their collar, and Kazi hurried after the Golden Knight.

“The human prisoner communicates in some kind of…hand language,”

Kazi drew level with her, and interjected with, “Sign Language, actually.” Their gaze darted to the dawn jaguar pacing by the Knight’s side, and then they turned aside, getting lost in one of their tangents before Noisette could nudge them back to the objective. “And she probably uses Katolis Sign Language _specifically_. You see,” Kazi added, turning back to the Knight. “Many of the regions use different-”

Janai cut them off briskly, her dæmon’s tail flicking lazily as he regarded the young scholar. “Can you translate or not?”

Noisette quivered against Kazi’s neck, and nuzzled in reassuringly. “Oh! Um, _yes_ , of course.” They smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of their neck, stroking their dæmon’s head as they went. “I was top of my class in linguistics.”

The Knight continued down the stairs without another word, and the jaguar dæmon looked over his shoulder at them for a moment longer before pacing after his elf.

“Although, I don’t suppose a _hand_ language would technically be linguistics. What would you call it?” Kazi asked Noisette as they regarded their own hands. “Finguistics?”

“Kazi,” Noisette murmured in their ear. “Focus. Translation now, contemplation later.”

“Right, right,” Kazi agreed, pushing their glasses up their nose to a more comfortable position.

By the time they had gathered themselves, they were at the foot of the stairs that led to the oubliette, and the Knight was at the edge of the ring of fire. Kazi had heard of these prisons, but never actually seen one for themselves. They hurried to follow, and came to a halt with another gulp as they watched Janai walk right through the wall of flames.

“Welcome to Lux Aurea, human.” They heard her say as they approached the nearby pillar and the release mechanism.

With just a few misgivings, and wondering how under the Sun they had ended up here, Kazi touched the mechanism, and a hole appeared in the fire. They stepped gingerly into the oubliette, standing stiff and awkward and very much feeling out of place – and supressed a yelp of alarm as the fire closed off the escape route, singeing their backside briefly. They kept it together, because they didn’t want to let Golden Knight Janai down, or the Crown, and they didn’t want to appear weak in front of the human.

They glanced at the Knight, marvelling that neither she nor her dæmon were charred. Her armour was as shiny and well maintained as it had been this morning when she sought Kazi out. The dawn jaguar by her side looked a little strange under the flickering light of the fire. Under sunlight, his pelt was a gorgeous array of soft dawn golds from his back and the top of his head, fading into delicate rose pink at his feet and undercarriage, with mottled dark grey rosette patterns across his fur. The gentle colours were made lurid by the fire’s blaze.

Then Kazi looked properly at the human prisoner. Female, they guessed, kneeling at the centre of the oubliette with her hands bound behind her back, head and shoulders bowed forward with fatigue. Beside her was a curious looking dæmon – a plain grey wolf with no distinguishing markings, save for a few scars on his muzzle. He was not bound, although they supposed he didn’t need to be. He was sat close beside his human, lips drawn back in a silent snarl, hackles raised. She was covered in a thin film of sweat in the unrelenting heat, and he was audibly panting.

Noisette quivered again, but they were as curious as Kazi, so they leaned forward to get a better look. The human turned her gaze from Janai and the bristling jaguar by her side to Kazi, and it lingered for a moment on their own dæmon. Noisette bobbed their tiny head in acknowledgement, and the human’s eyebrow twitched, ever so slightly arching quizzically.

Kazi almost smiled. Noisette was a tiny ember mouse, with coal black fur shot through with bright red at the ends in an agouti pattern, and many people underestimated them. A small dæmon did not equate to a small personality, or capabilities. Kazi may not have been much to look at, but they were formidably well read, diligent and organised in their studies – and clearly making a name for themselves, if Golden Knight Janai felt they were the right elf for this particular task.

Janai walked forward with slow deliberation, and circled around behind the human. Her dæmon growled long and deep in his throat as the wolf sat up on his haunches and snarled audibly, staring the dawn jaguar down. The Knight knelt down behind the human and spoke in the Common Tongue; the human watched warily over her shoulder, focusing on the elf’s face and particularly her lips.

Noisette put a paw on Kazi’s neck, and communicated a thought to them: maybe the human was deaf? There were many reasons for a person’s primary form of communication being Sign Language, but coupled with the human’s posture and where her attention was placed, Kazi felt auditory impairment a very likely candidate.

“I’m going to uncuff you now so you can speak.”

The human straightened up in response.

“Don’t do anything _stupid_ ,” Janai said with a thinly veiled threat, before she stood up.

The prisoner slowly brought her arms in front of her, and rubbed her aching wrists. Her dæmon broke away from his staring match with the jaguar to lick his human’s hands with a plaintive whine. She scratched his chin, and looked up at the Knight as she swept past and came to rest standing in front of them.

Janai spoke, and Kazi dutifully began translating from the spoken Common Tongue to Sign Language – or at least Kazi hoped that the human recognised what they were signing.

“What were your human soldiers doing on the Xadian side of the border?”

The prisoner glowered at them both before she glanced away. Then she brought her gaze back to Kazi without turning her head.

“What are the humans planning?” Janai rephrased her question, and Kazi translated.

Another scowl, and she looked away again.

Janai sighed, and her dæmon let loose a snarl that had Noisette shivering and shrinking into Kazi’s shadow.

“I’m losing my patience.” The Knight stated simply, and she advanced on the human. Getting down on one knee before her, and ignoring the way the wolf dæmon bounced to his feet and took up an aggressive stance with a dull roar in his throat, she demanded, “Say something!”

For a brief moment, there was something like a smirk on the prisoner’s face, and Noisette gulped.

The human signed emphatically, and Kazi started in alarm.

“Um. Oh my.”

How could they possibly translate that while remaining polite?!

She glanced at Kazi, like she was daring them, and folded her arms, turning aside completely so that she couldn’t see either of them. It did seem most likely that she was at least hard of hearing, if not completely deaf.

“Well?” Janai demanded, twisting around where she knelt to look up at Kazi for an explanation. “What did she say?”

“If my interpretation is correct,” Kazi said carefully, raising a hand.

“And it is,” Noisette added with a little bob of their head.

“She suggested an – _unusual_ way,” Kazi squirmed, glancing aside, very uncomfortable with how things were going. “In which your…body might…accommodate your sword.” Kazi translated uneasily, first for the rudeness of the sentiment, and secondly for fear of earning the Golden Knight’s ire by proxy. They cleared their throat for propriety as Janai rounded on the human again, her eyes flashing dangerously in the brief moment that Kazi could see her expression.

A hand snaked out and grabbed the human by the throat at the same moment that the jaguar dæmon pounced. She forced the prisoner to look her full in the face as she spoke again, and the wolf dæmon was pinned to the floor by a powerful set of snarling jaws.

“I suppose you think that’s _funny_.” Janai said in a quiet, dangerous tone.

The human nodded with a smirk.

“That’s a common sign for ‘yes’.” Noisette piped up helpfully.

“We’ll see if you have the same attitude with our Queen.” Janai said menacingly before she grabbed the human by the shoulders and roughly yanked her upright to her feet.

The dawn jaguar likewise pulled the wolf dæmon to his feet, and cuffed him heavily with an enormous paw. They stood for a moment, snarling at each other, before the human dæmon slunk to the prisoner’s side. Janai deftly stepped behind the human and replaced the cuffs on her wrists, shackling them together. “Kazi, get the door.”

“Door?” they rubbed their neck, a little nonplussed.

“The fire wall?” Noisette nudged gently from their shoulder.

“Oh! Oh right, yes. Of course, your highness. One moment,” they hurried to the release mechanism.

“Jacinth,” the Golden Knight said commandingly, and her dæmon lifted his head in acknowledgement. “Make sure he behaves himself.”

The Jaguar growled and snarled at the dæmon in question, who growled back from deep in his chest. Janai put one hand on the shackles, the other on the prisoner’s back, and pushed her forward. She stumbled at first, but found her footing, and walked past Kazi without looking at them while they held the fire at bay. They watched as the Knight led the human from behind, up the stairs towards the daylit world above, and blinked slowly as they rearranged their glasses.

“Well.” Noisette said quietly, folding their paws and sighing softly. They turned to look up and meet their elf’s gaze. “That is _not_ what I was expecting when we were assigned to this today.”

“No,” Kazi said, rubbing their neck before slowly following in the Knight’s wake. “No, it was not.”


	27. Ethan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-season 1: When Sarai moved to a new town and a new job, she met Ethan. And as she got to know him, she found herself very much in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a speculative interpretation on my part, spurred mostly by the hints dropped on the official social media sites ages ago about how Callum’s birth father was a ‘compelling’ man. I’m not overly convinced by this point that the man is ever going to feature in the series beyond the acknowledgement of being Sarai’s first husband and Callum’s sire, but should he be brought up in greater detail that conflicts with what I’ve written here, I’ll make a decision about whether to retcon this or just treat this and similar chapters as extra extra AU xD I want this project to be as canon as possible, and the ongoing lack of episodes/plot combined with the continued flowing of creative juices is making that goal rather difficult.
> 
> I’ve seen a few AU collection stories in recent months with longer chapters that contain several time-jumps that tell a completed story in a shorter format, so I thought I’d have a go at that structure and see what happens – let me know if it worked or not.

It was a breezy spring day with a crystal-clear sky, and the sun shone warmly. Sarai was at the market with a view to stock up on various bits and pieces, and to find something for dinner that night. Kaki padded by her side, flicking his ear occasionally when another dæmon called out loudly in the crowd; a banther prowled past and sniffed at him suspiciously, and then he blinked in surprise as a camel walked by, her man dressed in the traditional garb of a desert faring Neolandian. The first stall they came too had a rather dour looking woman with a sharp-eyed hawk dæmon, who both glowered at Sarai fiercely as she selected the turnips she wanted, smiled brightly, and went on her way as quickly as possible.

The market was especially loud today, and Sarai noticed a few more exotic looking dæmons amongst the crowd. There was what appeared to be a nobleman from Neolandia, with an elephant dæmon towering over everyone at the edge of the square, and a stout woman dressed in furs and wearing her hair in the style of Del Bar, with an enormous grizzly bear by her side as she ran a whetstone over her wood axe. Sarai watched them all from the corner of her eye, and made a note to check with Amaya about which trading caravans were in the area at the moment. It could potentially affect the guard duties, with thieves more likely to be attracted to the area, and she wanted to know in advance if she would be pulling late shifts in the near future.

After she had got all the vegetables she wanted, and a big sack of rice, Sarai was musing over whether or not they needed more porridge when someone stumbled into her sideways with a yelp of surprise. Kaki jumped and spun round to snarl at the offending dæmon, a brown spaniel who likewise started with alarm and ran to her human with a plaintive whine.

“I’m so sorry!” the man said, trying to stand up and managing to trip over himself once again as the paper bag in his hands tore, spilling paint and inks across the ground. “Oh no! I’m so, _so_ sorry, Miss,”

Sarai blinked in surprise, and looked down at him as he tried to gather his things up, avoiding her gaze. “Are you all right?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine, and I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” his face must have been beet red, judging by the colour of his ears.

Sarai crouched down to grab a runaway bottle of ink, and saw the emblem embossed on his satchel – he worked for the post office, and had an easel tucked under his other arm. “Here,” she held the bottle out to him, and he finally met her gaze with an apologetic smile.

He was rather handsome, in a scruffy kind of way. His brown hair seemed to defy all attempts to keep it tidy; he reached up to pat it down again, and it just sprang back into disarray. He had high cheekbones, a short beard that was one step away from being unkempt if he didn’t get it trimmed soon, and gorgeous green eyes. The dark grey tunic he wore had a courier’s pin on the breast, and he sported well-worn but high-quality boots that had been much mended over time. The spaniel rubbed herself against his side and whined again before she slunk over to Kaki to apologise profusely once more.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Sarai asked again as she stood up, and reached a hand out to him to help him up.

The man smiled shyly again, and accepted the offer. Once on his feet, he dusted himself down, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment, and laughed awkwardly. “I’m fine. Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, I was distracted. I should have been looking where I was going,”

“It’s fine.” She insisted with a wry smile as she folded her arms. She had dropped the rice sack, but it was sturdy enough to survive the fall. “No harm, no foul,” she supressed a laugh when the guy suddenly patted himself down with alarm, and spun round to look for something on the ground. “No bruise.” She concluded as he sprang back to his feet, clutching a set of keys to his chest and heaving a great sigh of relief. “Did you lose something?”

“No,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his head and smiling ruefully at his own ridiculousness. “Just my dignity. Wow,” he tucked the keys back into his pocket carefully, and waved his dæmon away when she butted her head against the back of his knee with a huff. “My boss would’ve killed me if I lost the office keys.” He looked up at the sound of raucous laughter, and seemed to shrivel.

Someone walked out of the crowd and clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh at his expense. “Ethan! You idiot, you should really watch where you’re going,” the newcomer tipped Sarai an enormous, conspiratorial wink. “Don’t want to get on the wrong side of the town guard! Ha!” he clapped his shoulder again, bowed deeply to Sarai, and sauntered off into the crowd again.

Sarai put a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling at the look of abject despair on her interlocuter’s face. He grimaced, closed his eyes and hung his head with a sigh; his dæmon laid her head against his hip comfortingly, and he reached down without looking to scratch her ears.

“Friend of yours?”

“You could say that,” he told her wryly, rolling his eyes. “In the loosest _possible_ sense of the term. You know what it’s like,” he gestured vaguely with his left hand. “Small towns, and all that. You make one clumsy mistake one time, and they never let you forget it.”

Sarai couldn’t help it, she really did laugh this time, and stood giggling as she tried to regain her composure. He cocked his head to one side and smiled at her brightly; those green eyes danced with mischief, and his dæmon hung her own head in despair this time with a louder sigh.

“So, _Ethan_ ,” Sarai emphasised his name as she stepped forward and held out her hand to him. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sarai.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Ethan shook her hand firmly, cheeks stained pink again. “Uhh…this is my Carwen,” he motioned towards his dæmon, who averted her gaze, looking the very picture of mortification.

“Kaki,” Sarai gestured to her own dæmon, who wagged his tail in a friendly gesture.

Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when a chorus of laughter erupted from the edge of the square, and a bunch of idiots assembled there looked in their direction and pointed at him.

“You absolute muppet!” someone shouted at him.

“Clumsy oaf!” another one added as Ethan hung his head and adjusted his grip on his items. “Bet he’s carrying that stupid art easel, as well!” he paused, wide eyed and frozen like a mouse caught in the hypnotic stare of a snake, and Sarai pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing at the rather adorable look on his face.

When he could look her in the face again, it was brief, and he offered her a crooked smile. “Now that my ego has been well and truly bruised, I’ll take my leave,” he hefted the offending easel more securely under his arm, and gave her a flamboyant little bow.

Sarai let her merriment show and returned his bow with a greater flourish. Ethan smiled shyly, cheeks flushed, and he melted silently into the crowd with his dæmon. Sarai looked for him as she returned home, but she didn’t see him anywhere; she nudged Kaki with her boot as they let themselves into the house, and he sniggered to himself.

“What now?” she asked with a smirk as she dumped the food on the kitchen table.

Kaki leaned back, sitting up on his haunches with his tongue lolling out of his mouth in a wolfish grin. “You _are_ a sucker for green eyes, after all.”

Sarai threw a rag at him, and he retaliated by pulling on the end of her belt with a playful growl. “I admit it, he was quite good looking.” She said lightly as she put the kettle onto the hob. She leaned against the counter, staring off into the distance, and sighed.

“Ohhh,” Kaki crooned, trotting back and forth across the tiles. “Someone’s got it bad. Don’t let Amaya catch you moping around with a face like that. She’ll gut him faster than you can say _jelly tart_.”

She laughed, and set about getting dinner ready for when her sister came off duty. It was hard not to think about Ethan – he had left quite the impression, and as Kaki had pointed out, she did have a type. When Amaya got back from her shift, they sat down to eat, and when her sister asked if anything interesting had happened to her that day, she laughed.

“Story to tell,” she signed across the table with a wry smile.

XOXO

Over the next few weeks, the two sisters settled into their new home. They quickly made friends amongst their neighbours and within the town guard.

And Sarai bumped into Ethan again on several occasions.

The first was as she ran out of the front door, already late for her shift, and slammed into the postman on the doormat. He dropped the packages in his right arm, and then his satchel of letters as he tried to scoop them up. Then he got a good look at Sarai’s face as she rushed to help him gather everything up, and he looked just about ready to die from embarrassment. His spaniel dæmon ducked into his shadow and wouldn’t look Kaki in the eye while their humans picked everything up, despite the dhole’s efforts to meet her gaze.

“I am so sorry,” Sarai said in a rush, as flustered as Ethan was. “But I’m already late. I’ve got to go,”

He swallowed, nodded, and scurried off. And then had to come back that afternoon to drop off the post, having been so flustered by their encounter in the morning that he had completely forgotten to deliver their mail.

The next occasion was in the town library; he had his nose stuck in a book, and in all honesty Sarai hadn’t been looking where she was going either. She found it amusing, and he was absolutely mortified. To the point where he couldn’t get any words out, and he ran away red faced when the librarian took them to task over all the noise.

Then they met at the tavern; Sarai and Amaya were there drinking with their colleagues, and Ethan stumbled through the boisterous crowd as he made his way to the bar. He smiled sheepishly, and offered to buy her a drink to make up for all the times he had crashed into her. Sarai smiled and humoured him, hoping to have a chance to have a proper conversation and being disappointed when his cousin dragged him off mid-conversation. He gave her some money to buy one more drink to apologise again, and she made a point of ambushing him on his next postal round with the change.

She really wanted to ask him out for a drink herself, but Amaya was watching, and getting increasingly curious over this young man that seemed to have caught Sarai’s eye. She may have been the baby sister, but she was quite protective, and while Sarai found the number of times they quite literally bumped into each other amusing, Amaya did not.

So, they kept meeting in brief encounters like this for about six months. Sarai asked a few discrete questions of the Captain of the Guard, and she informed her that Ethan was the son of the carpenter. An only child, but very close with his cousins; he was a bumbling fool, but utterly harmless. The kids in town loved him because he always had a pocket full of sweets and a first aid kit on hand, and she saw him on more than one occasion tending to grazed knees and bruised egos when the children got into scraps with each other. He painted, delivered mail, and was often gone for days at a time because he was a courier for the outlying villages and hamlets. He was a wonderful singer, and a terrible dancer, as evidenced by the spectacle he made of himself at the Summer Solstice celebrations. He got up on a table with his cousin and sang a lay about the seasons, and how they longed for each other as the year grew old, died and was reborn in the spring, where the cycle started all over again – and promptly fell over when he started to dance, breaking his wrist in the process. He flustered and blushed and tried to hide his cast the next time Sarai saw him after the festival. She smiled gently and enquired after his health, and he walked away, ears red and dæmon’s tail jammed between her legs.

When the harvest season was over for the year, Sarai was at the market again, picking out vegetables, and she started when her hand collided with someone else’s – and it lingered. Looking up, she found Ethan stood beside her, smiling shyly; his spaniel dæmon was leaning forward, tail wagging appealingly, and Kaki closed the gap between them to bump noses. This time round, the encounter was premeditated, and Sarai felt a warm rush of affection towards him.

Sure, he was clumsy and awkward, but by now Sarai had heard enough rumours and seen enough for herself to come to her own conclusions. He was quite handsome, if you liked that scruffy, long haired artist look, and those damn eyes were gorgeous – dark green like a forest at dusk. He was also incredibly kind, and attentive to the needs of others.

“Hello.” He said quietly, not retracting his hand.

“How are you, Ethan?” Sarai asked, likewise keeping still.

He looked down at their hands, before coming back up to meet her gaze steadily. His smile was warm and tender. She was in very real danger of becoming completely smitten with him at this rate.

“I’m okay. How are you?”

Sarai laughed softly and patted his forearm, avoiding the bandage around his wrist. “How’s your arm?” she deflected his question, and enjoyed the way he blushed but didn’t turn away from her.

“Better, thanks.” For a long moment, they stood there in silence, just looking at each other while their dæmons continued to touch noses. Eventually, he took a half step away and rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. “So…I was wondering, whether you’d like to…go somewhere tomorrow afternoon? Like, for an activity, or something?”

“Oh?” Sarai gave him a bright smile, unable to resist winding him up. She leaned closer conspiratorially, and his eyes went wide at her suggestive tone. “What kind of _activity_ did you have in mind?”

“Something very innocent and above board, I promise.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just thought…maybe you’d like to go for a drink? Or a walk down to the lake? Or just…whatever you’d like to do?” he gave her a shy smile again, and his dæmon’s tail kept wagging happily at Kaki’s attentions.

“When do you get off work tomorrow?” she asked airily, inspecting the produce and trying not to smile too broadly.

“About one.”

“Say…two thirty by the fountain? We can decide what _activity_ to do then.”

Ethan beamed, and his dæmon bounced on the spot beside him. “Great!”

“It’s a date,” Sarai promised, turning back to the disgruntled stall holder to pay for the food.

“It’s a date,” Ethan repeated with a silly little grin that made Sarai melt inside.

As she was walking away, she overheard the woman behind the stall say with exasperation, “Took you long enough to ask her.”

Amaya had to be talked down from conducting an interrogation, and Sarai dug through her limited wardrobe to find something that was nice and not utilitarian to wear. The last time she had been on a date was with the girl she had been casually seeing throughout the last two years of school, who was a tomboy and hated skirts. They broke it off because Sarai wanted to join the military, and Jane wanted to go to Del Bar to study – and since then Sarai hadn’t really had the time or the inclination to date. Until now.

Sarai found a dress that was serviceable enough, after she had mended the skirt, and she pulled her hair into a bun after several failed attempts to do something fancy with it. Amaya surprised her by adding a small rose from the garden, and tucked it behind her ear with a wry smile. Amaya then proceeded to remind her to be safe, and to give him a kick in the balls from her if he turned out to be a creep. Kaki and Palip had a friendly scrap as they exchanged signed insults, and Sarai left the house with a smile.

She got to the fountain a bit early, and found Ethan already sat there, scribbling away in the back of his notebook. Looking over his shoulder, Sarai saw that he was sketching the two doves pottering around on the other side of the square.

“Hello,” she said brightly, and giggled when he squeaked and toppled off the edge of the fountain in surprise. He recovered quickly and tried to play it smooth and cool by throwing his arm across the ledge, so very casually, and looking rather windswept. “Ready for an activity?”

Ethan opened his mouth, and then cringed when the gaggle of onlookers at the edge of the square pointed and snickered at him. Carwen lowered her head and tried to shuffle into his shadow, and started when Sarai walked forward with confidence and took his arm. Ethan blinked at her in surprise, and opened his mouth like he meant to say something, but didn’t know what. The laughter turned to sounds of confusion and downright astonishment as she squeezed his arm affectionately and looked up at him with a smile.

“I was thinking, the weather’s so nice, maybe we could go for a walk to the lake?” Sarai asked warmly, and Ethan relaxed with a smile.

“That sounds wonderful.” He gave her hand a squeeze.

To rub salt in the wound, Sarai waved merrily at his tormentors to let them know she had clocked them, and called, “Have a lovely afternoon!”, which made more than a few shuffle awkwardly and try to pretend they hadn’t been eavesdropping. Ethan snickered to himself as they walked away. His dæmon had a pronounced spring in her step, and Kaki couldn’t resist joining in.

And, as Ethan had predicted, it was a wonderful afternoon. They sat on the bank for a while, skimmed stones by the pier, and went for a walk through the woods. He showed her the fort he had built with his cousin when they were little, which was currently populated with children planning their own grand adventure. Ethan was proud that the fort was still standing after all this time, and happy that the next generation were getting good use out of it. He wanted to take Sarai out on the lake, but they couldn’t find any spare boats, so they went to the ridge over the town to watch the twilight slowly descend, staining the water rose and gold.

He told her about himself, his childhood, and his family still living in town (he had a _lot_ of cousins, to varying degrees of removal). He listened in turn to Sarai about her own family, how her parents had had children late in life, and how her mother had passed away a couple of years ago due to illness and her father had passed a few months later from a broken heart. She talked about her little sister, who she loved and was fiercely protective of, and how it was surprisingly hard to pull a prank on someone who was deaf. Like everyone else in town, Ethan already knew Amaya was deaf, and he asked Sarai for some pointers on signing, because he had been trying to learn in order to better communicate with some of the people on his mail route, and he was eager to learn from someone who was fluent in it.

“Wait…” he looked down at his hands with a small frown. “Okay, so this’ll probably be a silly question, but can you be _fluent_ in sign language? Is that the right word?”

Sarai shrugged with a small laugh. “I don’t know. I guess I’d say ‘proficient’. It’s not like spoken languages,”

“Well, either way,” he rubbed the back of his head, and tried to pat his unruly hair into some semblance of tidiness. “I’d appreciate some tips. I – I know that sounds like a lame excuse to spend more time with you. And – don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a wonderful time with you today,” he gave her that shy smile of his, and she felt herself warming to him even more. “If this doesn’t go anywhere between us, I’d still like to be friends.” His smile took on a lopsided quality, and his dæmon scoffed at him. He ignored her as he went on, “And I really would appreciate some help with sign language.”

“Looking for some private tutelage?” she asked slyly.

The implication went completely over his head. “There’s only so much you can learn from a book. That couple I was telling you about, in Thetford? I think they’re feeling a bit isolated. No one else in that hamlet signs, and – well…” he looked meditatively down at his boots. “I think it meant a lot to them when I came back the following week with really basic signs and a writing slate.” He looked down at the lake, reflecting the twilit sky above them, and smiled gently. “And the Smithy’s little girl loves it when I visit because she’s got someone other than her brothers to talk to about her flower garden.”

It was in that moment, as she gazed at his face while he watched the sunset meditatively, that Sarai decided she really wanted to pursue this relationship. Aside from the obvious lack of guile, his kindness and thoughtfulness, Ethan was just so… _compelling_. Learning to sign from her would have been a good ploy to get in her good books – and he was more concerned about the people on his postal route benefitting from it. And she had been dropping subtle innuendos all afternoon, that he either blushed at and quickly changed the subject, or simply went over his head.

Ethan turned to meet her eye, and flushed to find Sarai gazing at him starry eyed. Carwen became rather bashful and ducked under the other dæmon’s gaze.

Not long after, Ethan coughed awkwardly and commented on how late it was. They walked back into town, still smiling and talking, and Sarai made sure to kiss his cheek when the usual suspects crowded into the window of the tavern to watch Ethan walk her to her garden gate. She peeked at him as she shut the front door, and saw that he looked as giddy as she felt.

XOXO

Their first date was a leisurely walk around the lake, and ended with a kiss on the cheek at the garden gate.

The second date was a trip to the next town over, because Ethan wanted to get some paints and Sarai needed to stock up on maintenance equipment for her weapons. They had lunch in the pub, which served some really good ale, and she bought a couple of bottles to share with Amaya. This date ended halfway up the garden path, because Ethan insisted on helping Sarai to carry her bags, and he took the hand she proffered to him in jest and kissed her knuckles, looking up at her with quiet deliberation as he did so. Her heart skipped a beat at the ridiculously romantic gesture, and she couldn’t keep it together when Amaya interrogated her the moment the front door swung closed.

The third date was a picnic at the lake on a boat. Ethan had carefully planned everything out for one of their matching days off, and made sure to reserve a boat ahead of time. He had managed to get hold of some persimmon jelly tarts, by special order from the bakery, and Amaya later admitted that Ethan had asked her what Sarai’s favourite foods were. He exclusively used sign language and made such an effort for Amaya’s sake that she took pity on Ethan and didn’t even tease him for the incredibly sappy plan. It was a wonderful day; there were several moments where Sarai thought for sure Ethan was going to kiss her, but they were interrupted first by a startled duck (that nearly had Ethan overboard), then by one of his cousins paddling over and being generally obnoxious, and then Ethan just lost his nerve and busied himself with the picnic basket. Kaki touched noses with Carwen, and through his dæmon Sarai could see how deeply mortified and insecure Ethan was feeling. This date ended on Sarai’s doorstep; he had bade her goodnight, and turned to walk down the path to the street, and as she had the key in the lock he turned and called out her name.

Sarai turned to face him, and was pleasantly surprised when he quickly walked back to her, put one hand on her side, the other on her cheek, and kissed her passionately. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back; their dæmons pressed close, rubbing against each other and reinforcing their people’s affections, so that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the feelings were both mutual and entirely reciprocated.

Ethan drew back slowly, eyes shining in the twilight, and he stroked her cheek gently. “Wow,” he breathed softly, and she pulled him in again. He was a _ridiculously_ good kisser, and the tension that had been mounting all day – these last few months, even – made the moment all the more sweet and satisfying. He pulled back again, leaning his brow against hers so they could look each other in the eye, and said, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the Summer Solstice.”

After that date, things escalated quickly. Ethan formally introduced Sarai to his parents at a festival in between her shifts, and Amaya ceremoniously interrogated him – which she enjoyed doing because he was by then a lot better at signing, and it was even more fun to wind him up without a translator. The talk on the street was that bumbling Ethan who always had his head stuck in the clouds had fallen head over heels for the beautiful new town guard, and Sarai took great satisfaction in keeping the conversation outside the tavern very chaste and proper, and then snogging Ethan breathless in front of the cousins who constantly gave him a hard time, and who had always teased him that he would never attract a long term partner.

XOXO

When they had known each other for nearly two years, Ethan proposed. He had previously joked a bit about how she deserved choirs of angels and fountains of flowers, but in the end it was really simple, and absolutely perfect. Sarai would touch the ring on her finger and smile every time she thought about it. They had gone for a walk one day around the lake, and she had commented on the future as they stood by the pier; Ethan had squeezed her hand and asked if she saw him in her future, to which she had rolled her eyes and expressed the sentiment _well duh_.

So he asked her if she wanted to marry him, and when she said yes he gave her the ring. It was beautiful, a gold band with a little rose made from pieces of cut ruby. Sarai hadn’t quite been expecting it so soon, and had to go find an engagement ring to give to Ethan, which ended up taking months, but he didn’t care. He was giddy and excited and kind of awed that she had said yes.

“Why?” she asked, a bit nonplussed. She knew he doubted himself quite a bit, but she hoped he was secure in her own feelings for him.

And in that way he had, he shrugged off the uncertainty as his dæmon scoffed, and gave her a warm smile. “When I was younger, I never thought someone as wonderful as you would look twice at an idiot like me. And since you’re such a good judge of character, I realised that there really is something special about me. And because you were patient with me, I really believe it. And when you said yes…” Carwen licked Kaki’s ear affectionately before nuzzling into his neck with a happy whine. “It just brought it all home for me.”

With beautiful declarations like that, it was little wonder Sarai became pregnant before the wedding. The engagement itself lasted ten months, and the night before the big day she was a bundle of nerves because she wasn’t out of the first trimester yet. She wanted to tell him the exciting news, and was terrified of jinxing it.

That, and the hormones were wreaking havoc on her emotions. Ethan found her sobbing quietly in a corner of the hall they had just finished decorating for the celebrations, and he held her gently while she bawled into his chest, completely lost for how to help. Kaki threw his head back and howled, unable to communicate his inner state in any other way, and Carwen danced back and forth with increasing agitation, unable to see a way to alleviate his distress.

Sarai just let the emotions flow, and when they waned, she gently took Ethan’s face in her hands and kissed him lovingly.

“Okay,” he gently put his hands on her shoulder and held her at arm’s length so he could scrutinise her. “Now I am _really_ confused. What’s wrong?” he asked as he gently stroked her cheek.

Sarai drew herself up with a steadying breath, and gave him a watery smile. “I’m pregnant.” She said simply.

Ethan’s eyes went incredibly wide, and for a long moment he just stared at her. “You- you’re-” he blinked rapidly. “You- we’re-”

“It’s only about two months…” Sarai told him, biting her lip. “It’s – common to miscarry in the first trimester. I didn’t want to tell you until I was certain, and with the wedding and all…” she gestured to the table they had just set up.

Ethan surprised her by throwing his arms in the air and whooping loudly before he gathered her up in his arms and spun her around, laughing freely with tears in his eyes. Carwen bounced so high with elation that Sarai thought she might get completely airborne. The spaniel dæmon glomped Kaki with just as much affection and delight with the news. Ethan kissed her over and over, telling her how much he loved her, how excited he was.

Sarai had hoped rather than believed that the roiling in her stomach was due to nerves. She pulled away with a grimace and held up a hand to detain him as she said, “Hold that thought,” before she ran outside to be sick.

Ethan followed, and in between retches he carefully braided her hair back out of the way. When her stomach finally settled Sarai slumped against the wall and held her dæmon close. Ethan put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the crown of her head tenderly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Whut?” she asked tiredly, hugging Kaki in part for comfort but mostly to stay upright.

Ethan chuckled and kissed her hair again. “This is kind of my fault.”

She looked up at him wearily, and smiled in response to the way he looked at her. It was the same look he gave her at the alter when they said their vows the next day, the same look he gave her when the second trimester came round with no hiccups. The same way he looked at her when the baby started kicking, and he placed his hands on her swollen belly to feel for himself the little life they had created together.

One day, when Sarai was heavily pregnant and close enough to the due date that any twinges had Ethan and Carwen jumping out of their skins, they went to the market. Ethan went to get food and keep an eye on Sarai, and Sarai went because the enforced bed rest was driving her stir crazy. She smiled and thanked everyone who came up to congratulate them on becoming parents, and she really enjoyed the pleased flush that kept rising in Ethan’s cheeks each and every time.

By and large, his cousins had backed off from their teasing. Ethan had grown up a lot in the last few years, and was more comfortable in his own skin, but there were a couple of people who still liked to dig in under his skin every so often. And it was one of those days; Sarai’s smile became fixed as the main instigator walked up to them and smiled pleasantly before saying, “Sarai! How good to see you. Keeping well?”

“Very, thank you,” she put a hand on the bump and took a step back. Kaki leaned forward and raised his hackles ever so slightly at the other dæmon, a big black and white cat with one yellow and one blue eye.

“And Ethan.” The smile took a slightly unpleasant turn. “You looking after your wife?”

Ethan sighed and took a moment before responding. “Did you need something, Simon?”

“Just checking in on the family-”

“We’re fine, thank you.” Sarai turned and ushered Ethan away.

Unfortunately, Simon followed. While Ethan went into the butchers, Sarai eased herself onto a bench outside, and winced as the baby kicked right up into her diaphragm. Kaki pressed his nose against her belly, and snuffled with a happy whine. “They’ll be a traveller.” He said emphatically.

“So, Sarai,” Simon went on suddenly from beside her, and she wilted, just wanting to be left alone. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Is it urgent?” she asked, trying to smile and not make it a grimace as the baby kicked again, this time in the stomach.

Simon gave her a silly smile that didn’t quite hide his calculating expression. He glanced at the doors, and as Ethan was stepping outside, he asked _just_ loud enough for his cousin to hear: “What exactly was it you saw in Ethan?”

Ethan paused in the act of placing the packets of meat into the carry basket, and then busied himself with rearranging the contents.

Sarai gave Simon a narrow smile as she prepared to sit up. “He’s kind, and considerate. Generous, empathetic, loving and loyal.” She took a moment to right herself on her feet and dust herself down before looking Simon right in the eye, pleased to see him shrinking under her gaze. “In short, I love him because he’s Ethan.” She took her husbands hand and waved politely. “Good day,” she steered them both away from the shops, leaving behind an awkward silence and lots of people staring at Simon semi accusingly.

Ethan squeezed her hand as they stepped out of the square and onto a quiet street. “I love you,” he told her simply, and she gave him a genuine smile.

Kaki wagged his tail and bumped noses with Carwen before licking her neck and whining happily. The two dæmons trotted ahead of their people with a spring in their step, and Sarai kissed Ethan’s cheek.

“I love you too.” She murmured, closing her eyes when he leaned in closer, and returning his tender kiss passionately.

The baby kicked vigorously, and Sarai gasped in response, clutching her belly with a grimace. Ethan stepped back with a look of alarm and concern, and seeing that she was frowning at her enormous belly and rubbing it as she often did, he set the shopping down, and crouched in front of Sarai. He gently put his hands either side of hers, and kissed her belly.

“And we love you too, Bumpy.” He said gently, caressing their unborn baby. “So much,” he added dreamily, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding them both close.

Sarai smiled and stroked his hair, enjoying Ethan’s closeness, and the soothing effect he always had on the baby when they were agitated. He slowly got to his feet, kissed her cheek, and scooped up the shopping.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, taking her hand and leading the way back to their house.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive feedback is greatly appreciated so that I can improve on my creative writing skills.
> 
> For this particular story I am open to suggestions for specific scenes/scenarios/characters you'd like to see. It's a fun side project I'm playing around with, and while I have ideas in the works, creative input from readers is welcome and appreciated.


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